


Dusk.

by expectokadavra



Series: For dusk is the combination between Dark and Light [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Nightmares, Not Epilogue Compliant, Powerful Harry, Protective Draco, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Narcissa Malfoy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 47,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23612716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expectokadavra/pseuds/expectokadavra
Summary: For dusk is the combination of Dark and Light. When two opposites share a moment during the night, unexpectedly beautiful in their differences.Draco Malfoy expected a lot of things. He had expected hexes, jinxes and howlers sent his way as he attended Hogwarts for his last year after the War. Although his charges were dropped after Harry Potter spoke for him at his trial, Draco knew that the Wizarding world would not accept him with open arms. Draco had expected a lot of things but what he hadn't expected was to follow said Potter to the Dark Forest after having been awoken by him. One time turned into several and before Draco knew it, he was experiencing things he couldn't even have expected in his wildest dreams.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: For dusk is the combination between Dark and Light [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699606
Comments: 40
Kudos: 301





	Dusk.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CallisaRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallisaRose/gifts).



> Good evening, morning or afternoon from wherever you may be right now 
> 
> This work of fiction is completely dedicated to one of my best friends, the very person who got me into drarry and who reignited my love for the Wizarding World and all it contains. Her name is [Carly-Rose](https://twitter.com/RoseCallisa/) and this is my birthday present to her. Her birthday was on the 1st of April so admittedly I'm a little late, but then again I started this story thinking it was going to be maybe 10k and here we are. 
> 
> I also know I am a little late when it comes to Drarry. The last Harry Potter book came out thirteen years ago and the Deathly Hallows part 2 came out nine years ago, so granted, I'm a little late. Then again, there's no such thing as being too late for enjoying a particular ship and universe, is there?
> 
> I hope you enjoy, whoever you are. God knows we can use it in these times
> 
> DISCLAIMER:  
> The Harry Potter universe does not belong to me. It is a work of JK Rowling and I don't take credit for anything she has created. This is merely a work of fiction and I don't make any income from it. Once again, the Harry Potter universe is not mine and I don't claim it as such. 
> 
> Enjoy
> 
> D.

Draco supposed that, in a way, he should have seen coming that he would see Potter again. The trials, his trials at least, were over and Draco hoped that even though people still hated him, he could move on, try to leave it all behind with his Mother and live a quiet, simple life that he never knew he wanted. It had always been about power, money and importance to Draco’s father, and it was all he was raised to believe in. Draco had allowed his father to implement those ideals into his head and it had led to nothing but utter despair and chaos. Draco hated it. From now on his life was going to be about calmness, learning and moving on. 

Potter had returned his wand back to him after the trials were over, an awkward moment Draco didn’t like to relive because he had looked an outright  _ mess _ after having been locked up in the Manor, still filled with the memories of the Dark Lord and all he did, with his father fuming on about how they were going to restore the Malfoy name to its former glory. He kept going on about it and two days before their trials were due, Draco’s mother had stood up from where she had been seated at a windowsill and smacked Lucius across the face, the muggle way, and cursed him out for everything he had put her and Draco through. 

So, when Potter had looked him in the eyes and given Draco’s wand back to him, Draco looked like anyone who had had to listen to their parents screaming at each other and throwing things for the past two days would look. Potter had given Draco a nod and a handshake before walking off, his navy blue dress robes looking as if they were made for him. 

And that had been that. 

What he had  _ not  _ seen coming was seeing Potter on platform 9 3/4, a trunk levitating beside him as he chatted with Granger and Weasley. The younger, female Weasley was nowhere in sight and for a split-second Draco dreaded to know where she was. Before he could wonder about the whereabouts of a girl he used to hate, she ran up to the group with a smile on her face.

He had expected Potter to go  _ straight  _ into Auror training, forgoing taking his N.E.W.T.S and probably Auror training to take down each and every remaining Death-Eater that had somehow been able to escape the clutches of the Ministry. But yet here he was, standing on the same platform Draco was and seemingly going to school for their last year. Draco wasn’t sure whether Granger had convinced him to go back and take the proper exams before becoming an Auror, but Potter was here. 

And he was smiling. Draco couldn’t see if it was real from the distance that was between him and the trio, but he hoped for Potter’s sake that it was a real one. 

Happiness seemed to be a common emotion today, Draco thought to himself. There was this sense of  _ glee,  _ although mild, that covered every witch and wizard stood on the platform or already sat on the train. Draco supposed it was normal. Hogwarts had been restored at record time and the dangers of any Dark Lords and his army of Death Eaters were gone.

Everyone was looking forward to a year of peace at the school. Draco could see it on the faces of the parents who were here to wave their kids goodbye. He could sense it as he boarded the train himself, a tiny part of him wishing his mother had been there and not cooped up in their new home, ashamed of everything her husband had done and what he had made her son do. She was still too far gone to show her face in such a crowded wizarding space, Draco knew, but he missed her nonetheless.

Despite the losses of the war, it was a somewhat happy day. Draco knew for a fact that one of the Weasley twins had not made it out alive during the Great War. He found himself admiring the strength it must have taken to smile the smile the Weasley girl had done just now, with the death of her older brother weighing on her shoulders.

Draco found himself a compartment, blissfully empty still, and he slouched against the window. His mother had only said goodbye to him right before he put on his coat and stepped into their fireplace. He couldn’t Apparate legally, his license revoked for the next two years, so Draco was left with Flooing. It was a short walk from The Leaky Cauldron to King’s Cross, but Draco hadn’t liked it.

He treasured the few moments of quiet. Draco wondered which of his old friends would return to Hogwarts and which wouldn’t. He had spoken to them maybe a handful of times after the Battle of Hogwarts, and those conversations were never about school. 

Draco could see Blaise returning. Pansy was a possibility, too, but he doubted whether Goyle would return. Draco refused to think about the reason why. And while Draco, Pansy and Blaise had changed their minds, had turned their back on the ideology of their parents, Goyle hadn’t as much. 

His mother, ever the hostess, had demanded him quite a few times to invite them over into their new home, which was much less gloomy than the Manor had been. He had never actually asked them, not knowing how to face them properly without the guilt that ate away at him, day and night. Much to his mothers’ dismay, of course. Draco was convinced she merely did it out of her own hatred for the blanket of silence that lay upon their new accommodation.

Draco was startled out of his reverie when the door to the compartment opened. He was about to mumble ‘occupied’ or listen for the anxious ‘excuse me’ from a younger student who recognized Draco, when someone touched his shoulder.

“Many thanks for answering my last letters, you wanker.” Draco felt a feeling akin to relief spread through his chest at Pansy’s scolding voice that now filled up the quiet in the compartment. Draco could hear the noises of the platform through the closed window and other students were making their way through the small hallway on the train, their footsteps loud.

He was taken back to their sixth year, right before everything went to, for lack of a better word, shit and he hadn’t finished his charms homework. Instead, he had sat in the library watching Potter and his friends.

Draco hoped his smile was convincing. 

“I ran out of ink.” He joked. Pansy rolled her eyes but a soft smile spread across her face. She looked well rested, calm. As if she wasn’t about to return to a school that hated her guts. Or, maybe they didn’t. Perhaps the months after the War had not only changed Draco, but the others too. 

She sat down on the other couch in front of him, her trunk already on the tray above her. “Of course you did, Draco.” 

Draco tried to smile at Pansy. “You reckon Blaise--” 

“Wouldn’t count on it. According to Mother, he has agreed to private lessons. We’ll see him at the N.E.W.T.S examinations, of course.” 

Draco wasn’t sure why his chest ached. They had been presented with the opportunity to attend Hogwarts in a makeshift eight year. He knew not many of the students he used to attend classes with were returning; some were unable to. It made Draco’s chest clench with guilt. Lavender Brown, for example, was too scarred to return. The last Draco had seen of her was at Greyback’s trial, where a scar adorned her cheek and travelled down her neck. 

He had guessed Blaise wouldn’t return. He had hoped he would, of course, but he understood Blaise’s reasoning more than anyone probably ever could. 

“Can’t say I blame him, though.” Pansy spoke, leaning back into the green cushions of the couch as the train finally took off. Draco’s eyes moved to watch the platform slowly go by, parents waving at their children like their life depended on it. A few years ago it would have probably felt that way. 

“Not really, no.” Draco responded. He had planned to read a copy of ‘The Perfect Brewed Calming Draught’ by Wesley Buddotch, a wizard Draco had never heard of before but the book seemed interesting enough. Besides, he could use a Calming Draught. But now that Pansy was here, Draco was sure he wouldn’t get much reading done. 

△⃒⃘

Harry took a seat in the compartment Ron had chosen, a strange familiar feeling of nostalgia hitting him like a bludger. He hadn’t boarded this train in what felt like  _ ages,  _ but had been only two years ago. It looked exactly the same as it had looked when he was eleven, anxious and excited to get away from the Dursleys and learn about this new world he was supposed to be a part of. This whole new world who knew him, what he had gone through but who he knew no one in except for Hagrid. 

Ron groaned from where he had taken a seat by the window across from Harry, his hand waving at the Weasleys on the platform. “You’d reckon they would leave after we boarded.” 

“Oh come on Ron, let them enjoy this. Especially your mum.” Hermione reprimanded him, raising her hand to wave just as Harry did the same. Molly waved back even more enthusiastically. George stood next to her on her right side, while Arthur stood on her left with his hand on her shoulder. Bill and Fleur stood next to George, her hands on her slightly protruding belly. 

Charlie and Percy weren’t there and Harry didn’t blame them. Charlie had gone back to Romania and Percy hadn’t been able to get off of work for the day. The Minister was still trying to get everything back on its track, Shacklebolt trying his hardest to run everything smoothly and to, above all else, change the laws from where Voldemort and his Death Eaters had changed so many things. 

“It’s embarrassing.” Ron continued to whine but Harry recognized the sparkle in his eyes. He was glad his family was still there. Everyone had taken the loss of Fred heavily, especially Percy and George, and all throughout the summer where everyone had stayed at the Burrow, it had felt like a hole. No one sat at his spot around the dining table, and no one dared to take his broom out of the shed for a makeshift Quidditch game as the sun went down. No one could fill the void that Fred had left behind. 

It had all become a bit easier, though, when George cracked the first joke about Fred during dinner two weeks ago. Everyone had been tense around him, Molly to a point where George had banned her from his room for three days, but after that everything eased a bit more. 

“I think it’s nice.” 

“Well of course you do, mate.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, kicking his best friend lightly in the shin. Ron scoffed at him and opened his mouth before he was interrupted by a loud hissing sound, the train starting to move forward ever so slowly. 

Harry kept staring out the window till the platform was gone from view before he turned to look at his friends. Hermione was now leaning against Ron’s chest as Ron sat on the bench with one leg up, giving Hermione room to sit in between his legs as she read with the biggest smile on her face. Ron placed a kiss on top of her head before closing his eyes and Harry couldn’t help but smile at the two of them. 

This was their first year at Hogwarts without any impending doom lingering above their heads. No more having to sneak out in the middle of the night to read books from the Restricted Section in the library, no more having to walk around with constant vigilance. The Professors were safe, no floor was a danger to students any longer and, most of all, the fear of the Dark Lord breaking into the school was no longer there. 

It felt like a breath of fresh air. The War had taken so many lives, so many things and Harry was more than euphoric that it was all over now. There were charity dinners and fundraisers and services to attend when Harry was finally done with school, his Order Of Merlin and being ‘The Boy Who Lived’ and ‘The Chosen One’ would do that for you, but Harry didn’t mind. 

Of course, having to rehash those horrible months searching for horcruxes wasn’t something Harry particularly enjoyed. He knew none of his friends did, either. And, for the most part, Harry had completely blocked out the Battle of Hogwarts as much as he could. 

The thought that he had died and came back again haunted him at night, much like the nightmares that came along with everything else, so Harry tried to not think about it too much during the day. He had a lot to live for, people who he wanted to grow old with and things he wanted to do. Things weren’t a walk in the park, still, but Harry supposed it would never be that easy. 

After a couple hours Harry was nudged awake by Hermione, a chocolate frog in her hand and a smile on her face. She had changed into her robes already, the Gryffindor crest missing on her chest. 

“Time to get changed, Harry.” She whispered gently. Harry groaned, stretching his arms. His back gave a satisfying pop and he grinned to himself. 

“Have a good nap, did you?” Ron asked. Before Harry could answer he was hit in the face with his school robes, his sleepy reflexes not quite fast enough to prevent his glasses from skewing. 

“Actually, Ron, that was the best bloody nap I’ve had in ages.” His best friends laughed airily, all three of them plagued by nightmares most nights and glad when one of them got one night of good sleep. Even if it was just for an hour or so. 

Ron was halfway into his robes when the door to their compartment opened, making Ron squawk loudly and try to cover his chest. 

“Calm down Ron, it’s just me.” Ginny grinned at them from where she stood in the opening, already wearing her school robes as well. The Gryffindor crest was still on her chest, though, and somehow it made Harry’s heart ache. 

Ron groaned, “Don’t fucking--”

“Language Ronald!” 

“Startle me like that again!” 

Hermione swatted Ron’s bare chest, a fond smile on her face. Harry’s eyes travelled to Ginny’s face. Her smile hadn’t left her features ever since they had gotten onto the platform and Harry was glad to see her smiling again. It had been a while since she had, especially like that. Like it was real, like she meant it. 

Sometimes, in the dark hours of the night when Harry felt lonely or he couldn’t sleep, he thought of what would have happened if Ginny and him had actually been in love. What they had before wasn’t love; it was a coping mechanism, the adrenaline of war and leaving a lover behind to fight within its front lines. 

Their break-up was mutual, sure, but there was some lingering awkwardness and sometimes Harry longed for a kiss or a touch. But he knew it wasn’t Ginny he was longing for. 

She had a bit too much breast for that, if Harry was being honest. And, to his great surprise, Harry had a bit too much dick for Ginny’s tastes. Luna and her were a more recent development but Harry was happy for her. 

“Oh sod off Ron. I found one of your briefs in my trunk.” She expertly flung the garment toward Ron, who stood with his mouth wide open. 

“Thanks Ginny.” Hermione said, plucking the pair of underwear from her boyfriend’s head. Ginny grinned, and Harry could see she was holding back a loud laugh as she closed the door again, walking off to her own compartment. 

“Bloody hell.” 

△⃒⃘

The Great Hall looked slightly different than when Draco remembered it. Granted, the last time he had seen it it had been half destroyed, bodies underneath centuries old bricks and curses being thrown around like mental. Tonight, it was calm. As calm as a hall filled with hundreds of students could be, of course, but calmer than Draco had expected it to be. 

Pansy and him made their way to the Slytherin table, sitting down at the edge of it. Draco could look at the rest of the tables and noticed other eight-years doing the same thing. None of them had their house crests sewn into their robes but sat down at their respective tables, anyway. 

It seemed like Draco and Pansy were the only two Slytherins from their own year who had made the decision to go back to Hogwarts. Draco felt out of place, as if he didn’t belong. And maybe the castle didn’t think he belonged either, perhaps it wanted him gone. 

Draco was waiting for something to fall on him, for a hex to be thrown his way or to have someone yell at him just as McGonagall cleared her throat, effectively silencing the entire hall. It was odd to not see Dumbledore up there. Immediately, Draco felt guilty for thinking as such. He was the reason why Dumbledore was no longer up there. Well, one of the reasons. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Let me introduce myself to those of you who do not know; I am Professor McGonagall. As of this year, I will be taking the position of headmistress, as our latest Headmaster was forced out of his position.” Her smile was kind as she eyed the nervous first years that stood right in front of the steps leading to the Head Table. 

Draco remembered his sorting, the way the hat hadn’t even had to touch his head before exclaiming a loud ‘Slytherin!’ and how he had been so,  _ so _ proud of that. Draco was still proud to be a Slytherin, but not because of the things he used to be proud of. He was proud of the ambition Slytherin’s carried, but he had grown ashamed of the history that followed Salazar’s house every step they went. 

McGonagall continued her speech, her voice much kinder than it had been before the War. “This year is all about house unity and rebuilding Hogwarts as it was before. Therefore, the professors and I have decided that the House Cup will not be awarded at the end of the year. Quidditch will continue as normal, but the scores will not count toward the House Cup. Anyone who has complaints can see Madame Hooch about it, after the Feast.” 

Draco had been expecting an uproar, older students protesting against the judgement of the professors. But nothing came. Everyone seemed to agree and as Draco looked over at the Gryffindor table, he could see Potter nodding along, too. 

Even Professor McGonagall looked surprised at the lack of protest. She cleared her throat before taking a step back and retrieving the Sorting Hat from where it had been sat on its stool. 

“And now, for the Sorting.” 

Draco zoned out after that, not particularly interested in the first years. When the hat exclaimed ‘Slytherin!’ He applauded just like everyone else at the table, even though most of the first years looked absolutely terrified at the prospect of being a Slytherin. He couldn’t blame them, really. 

He wouldn’t see them often, anyway. They weren’t going to share a dorm. They weren’t in his classes and Draco had been kicked from the Quidditch team. He would probably only run into them in the corridors. He was sure they would run from him, though. 

After the food appeared, Draco spent the Feast catching up with Pansy. Apparently, her family had been able to keep Parkinson Park because none of her parents were actual Death Eaters, but they had redecorated the place to be less grimm than Draco always remembered. She told Draco about some of the changes with a smile on her face and Draco found pride within himself, for she had grown out of her old beliefs too. 

Pansy had spent her summer reading ‘self-help’ books, or so she called them, and had even owled Potter to apologize about her behaviour during the Battle. Draco had nearly spat out his pumpkin juice at that. 

Draco supposed that was the reason why she was so calm. No one hated her anymore, or at least didn’t want to hex her to death. Pansy seemed like she had changed quite a lot in the months that had passed. Draco had changed a lot, too, or so he thought. He hadn’t had the actual guts to apologize, though. 

He wasn’t sure if Potter and his friends could ever find it within themselves to forgive him, anyway. 

After the Feast, the eight-years stayed behind, seated at their tables. Draco recognized a couple of Hufflepuffs, a handful of Ravenclaws and Potter, Granger, Weasley and Longbottom.

They were less than a regular class, not even twenty people, and Draco closed his eyes. This was bound to go wrong, one way or the other. 

“Students,” McGonagall’s voice made Draco snap his eyes open. He watched as she walked down to where the Gryffindors were still seated, motioning for the other students to move to that table, as well.

Draco found himself hesitating as he stood up. Pansy, however, took him by the elbow and pulled him with her, leaving him no choice but to listen. He could feel several pairs of eyes on him as he took a seat next to Pansy, who greeted everyone with a smile. 

“As you all know, this year will evidently be different from what you are used to, here at Hogwarts.” She sounded less kind, something akin to worry laced within her words. The table was silent, apart from whispers between the Golden Trio, and Draco braced himself for an explanation that would most likely stretch too long. He was exhausted. He wanted to crawl into his bed and sleep. 

△⃒⃘

“Our new dormitories are higher up than the bloody Gryffindor tower. Utter shite.” Ron complained as they climbed the stairs, the rest of the eight-years trailing behind the four of them. Neville had joined them during the Feast, having spent the train ride with Luna and Ginny, and snickered. 

“It works wonders for the body, you know?” 

“What does?” Ron turned his head to look at Neville with his eyebrows raised. 

“Exercise, mate.” 

Ron rolled his eyes. “We get it Nev, you’re terribly fit now.” 

Harry grinned to himself as they continued on walking, the bickering between Neville and Ron something he found tremendous comfort in. The eight-year dormitory was indeed higher up than the Gryffindor tower was, two floors higher up and part of the East wing. Harry could feel the strain in his thighs from his lack of moving the past few months. He could agree with Ron. This was going to be shit to climb every day. 

They stepped onto the right floor, turning into a hallway Harry didn’t recognize. He was sure that after all these years he had seen everything Hogwarts had to offer, but the castle found ways to surprise him each and every time he thought it confidently enough. 

Their footsteps echoed against the stone, the few portraits hung on the wall following them with eager eyes. Hermione led them to the left, where they were met with a portrait. 

Ron cleared his throat. “Gather around everyone!” 

Without much of a hassle, the eight years formed half a circle around Ron and Hermione. Harry stood off to the side, preferred to be, and eyed all the students. His eyes fell to Malfoy almost immediately, who was looking out of one of the windows with an expression so blank Harry wondered if he felt anything at all. 

Pansy Parkinson stood beside him, her eyes on Hermione unlike her best friend. Harry bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from smiling the tiniest of smiles. He had never held much of a grudge against what Pansy had said during the Battle of Hogwarts, how she had offered him to the Dark Lord without a second thought, but getting her apology letter by owl had been just as surprising. 

He had written back, of course, thankful and accepting her sincere apologies and that was that. Harry found himself hoping that she wasn’t the only Slytherin around who had changed their views, if only a little bit. 

“Our portrait is The Wizard Who Cannot Be M--”

“Oh dear, just call me  _ Harold _ .” 

Harry turned to look at the portrait behind them, wand already drawn and shoulders tight. Hermione’s hand was on his arm within a second, pushing his arm down. “It’s okay, Harry.” 

Her whisper made him put away his wand, but the man dressed in bright blue robes was already staring at Harry with disdain. “Drawing a wand? On me? A poor, mere portrait? Well have I never!” 

“Apologies, sir.” Harry quickly said, hoping to ease the horrid screeching the man within the portrait--Harold-- used as his talking voice. 

Hermione cleared her throat, gathering the attention of the group back to her. Harry could still feel eyes on him, though, but he shrugged them off. He was used to people watching him. Letting his fellow students stare would be as easy as casting a Patronus wandlessly. 

“Like I said, Harold will be guarding our dormitories and common room. Our password is ‘Dusk’, please remember it accordingly. The dorms are similar to the ones we grew up in. Girls up the stairs to the right, boys on the left. Any questions?” Hermione sounded like she was simply chatting with Ron or Harry, comfortable and at ease. 

No one raised their hands. Hermione nodded and turned around. “Dusk,” she spoke. Harold sighed dramatically, bowing as if to the Queen of England before the portrait swung open, revealing a common room at the end of a short corridor. 

“Your trunks will be at your beds and I personally suggest that we all go on and rest early for the night.” Hermione spoke as they walked into the common room together. No one protested. Harry wasn’t sure whether that was because of the fact that Hermione sounded like she would not bear any sort of argument or because, well, it was Hermione. 

The common room was decorated quite homely. It reminded Harry a bit of the Gryffindor common room with a slight ache in his heart. The only other Hogwarts dormitory that Harry had ever seen was the Slytherin’s dungeons and this looked nothing like them. 

It looked more like the Burrow, in that sense. Two sets of couches littered the floors, one around an already lit fireplace and one around a large wooden coffee table. A table with four chairs was located right underneath a window, a set of Wizard’s chess set up on the wooden surface. The colors were a mix of all the different houses, somehow complimenting each other just right. 

The four Hogwarts house banners hung on the wall next to where Harry assumed was the staircase and a few bookcases took up the other wall. Harry sighed with relief; this looked like a space he could spend his last year at Hogwarts in. 

The awkward silence between most of the students that followed as they all took to their dormitories felt wrong to Harry. Ron was quiet by his side, Neville not far behind. Before, Harry could have always counted on Dean and Seamus for laughter and jokes when nobody else felt like it, but now all there was was silence. 

Harry wasn’t sure whether that was because of the other students that he didn’t know as well or because Malfoy was in their presence. 

He scowled. He hoped it wasn’t the latter. 

“You alright mate?” Ron whispered in his ear, making Harry jump. 

“Yeah, fine.” He replied, hand finding the doorknob and swinging the wooden door open to reveal the boys’ dormitories. 

It looked exactly like Harry remembered the Gryffindor dormitories to look like. Eight four-poster beds lined the walls, standing in a circle. As Harry looked around he could see that the boys from the other houses also recognized the similarities between this and their old dormitories. 

There was Ron, of course, and Neville. Malfoy was one of them, too. Then from Hufflepuff came Ernie and Justin. And then there were Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner from Ravenclaw. Malfoy was the only Slytherin male. 

As Harry wondered where Zabini, Goyle or Nott were, the others found their trunks. Harry moved from where he was standing frozen near the door hastily, following after Ron. There wasn’t much doubt that they were settled next to one another. 

“You going to sleep, Harry?” 

“Depends, you up for a game of chess?”

△⃒⃘

Classes started up again seemingly normal. It was strange how Draco found himself falling back into the routine of classes, meals and homework. He took the stares and sneers from other students to the heart but he had Pansy with him. And while the words hurt and Draco wished he could use a Time Turner and go back to before he took the Mark, he tried not to let such things distract him. 

He was aware that most students hated him. Those who didn’t also didn’t particularly  _ like  _ him and the Castle seemed quite hostile against Draco. He was convinced his bed was colder than the ones of his peers. 

So far, none of which had tried anything to hurt him. Draco wasn’t sure whether that was because of the fact that they thought he had suffered enough--which he truly doubted-- or because of Potter and his Savior way of handling things. 

Draco had expected hexes, cursing, poor pranks that would land him in the infirmary on ‘accident’ but what he had not expected was the lack of such things. So far, Draco hadn’t been hexed  _ once  _ and no matter how grateful he was, it felt odd. 

“Draco dear, what’s on your mind?” 

Draco looked up from where he had been poking at his eggs to see Pansy looking at him with a worried expression. He shrugged, “It’s odd, isn’t it?” 

Pansy frowned, “What is?” 

“Well, the fact that no one has hexed me yet? Or performed an ill-hearted prank on me that would land me in the infirmary? I haven’t even received a  _ howler  _ from a bloody parent!” Draco hissed, frustrated. Everything going semi-well was worrying, he felt as though everything could go wrong within the snip of a finger. 

Pansy raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, a dry chuckle leaving her lips. “ _ Pardon  _ me? You desire for people to hate you? Do you  _ want  _ the whole Hogwarts population to spit at you, every breath you take?” 

Draco’s eyes widened slightly, shaking his head. “Of  _ course _ not, Pansy! It’s just unsettling, like they are all conspiring to plan something bigger.” 

Pansy sighed. She looked around, probably trying to see if anyone was listening to their conversation. Sat in the Great Hall for lunch, there were bound to be other students at the Slytherin table, but some of the seven years had gone to Hogsmeade instead to spend their Saturday, so there was a slight gap between Draco, Pansy and the other Slytherin population. 

“If you thought about it, which I’m sure that thick head of yours can actually do from time to time, you would have realised that that is simply because the Saviour spoke at your trial, dear.” Pansy spoke matter of factly, taking a bite of her toast as if to end the argument. 

Draco had thought of that the night before while listening to Potter casting silencing spells around his bed. The fact that Potter spoke at his trial, lifting all charges with only a hefty fine left to pay for the damages done to Hogwarts during the Battle, was bound to change some of the opinions of the public on the Malfoys. 

Well, his mother and himself. His father had been sent to live the rest of his miserable life in Azkaban without any mercy given from the Wizengamot. Not that he deserved any, in Draco’s opinion. His father used to be someone he looked up with nothing but pride. Over the years, however, Lucius had become a man Draco despised with his very being. 

“People don’t change their minds that easily, Pansy.” Draco remembered the sneers, curses and every Jinx in the book right after the War had ended. The team of Aurors who had come to seize the Manor had gone on a rampage, even going as far as casting an ‘Incendio’ in the middle of his parents’ sleeping quarters, effectively burning those rooms to the ground. 

There hadn’t been an ounce of respect given to either his mother or Draco, so this was a jarring change. A welcome change, but nonetheless suspicious. 

“I am aware, Draco. But your family has paid their dues, and everyone is looking to move on.” 

Draco doubted that, but he nodded anyway. People getting over everything the Malfoys had done to help the Dark Lord reach his position of power was a hopeful thought, but practically impossible. 

Just as Pansy looked like she was going to open her mouth again, owl screeches filled the Great Hall. Draco looked up to the ceiling, watching as owls flew by and dropped packages and letters on the tables. 

A brown feathered Tawny owl that Draco recognized to be his mothers’ fluttered down toward him, elegantly avoiding plates and cups as she made her landing. Religi was just as graceful and careful as his mother, Draco mused as he scratched her head with one hand and untied the parchment tied to one of her claws. 

“Oh! The paper!” Pansy exclaimed, holding a letter and the latest issue of The Daily Prophet in her hands. Their family owl flew off before she could give him a piece of her toast. Draco broke a piece of his own off, holding out his hand for Religi to eat out of. 

Draco gave her one more scratch on the head before she flew off again, his mother clearly not expecting an immediate response. 

“Do you really still read that?” Draco asked, opening his mothers’ letter. Pansy hummed, barely audible among the loud noises around them. 

“It’s quite informative. Besides, Father wants me to stay up-to-date with all of it.” 

Draco grimaced, “The Daily Prophet is full of bollocks, still. “

“It’s not Witch Weekly, Draco.” Pansy said, rolling her eyes. Draco huffed in response, a small smile aimed at his best friend. 

“I’ll be in the dormitories if you need me.” Draco then said, swallowing the last bit of his eggs. Pansy gave him a nod, already immersed in the paper. He took his mothers’ letter and stood up, feeling a few pairs of eyes on him as he left through the entrance. 

△⃒⃘

_ My dearest Draco,  _

_ I do hope you are faring well, my love. I assume the start must have been troubling, however I do hope that you keep your head held high.  _

_ I find myself faring quite well, to my own greatest surprise. I went to a muggle establishment just yesterday. It was truly a wondrous experience, if I may say so. They have rather odd things, those Muggles do.  _

_ I too, received a letter from your Father. He requests for me to think about his proposition. I will let you know that I did not change my mind. He is no longer my husband. In a fortnight or less he will no longer be my lawful husband, according to our solicitor.  _

_ This leaves the question of your last name, my dear.  _

_ I will be awaiting your response.  _

_ I do hope Hogwarts is doing you well. Please tell Ms. Parkinson I tell her hello and wish her well.  _

_ Yours faithfully,  _ _   
_ _ Narcissa Black  _

Draco heaved a sigh. Relief and anxiety rushed through his veins, his magical core restless as he sat on his bed, the curtains drawn shut. No one was there with him, his peers Salazar knows where. 

After the Second Wizarding War Draco’s mother had completely abandoned all of the prejudices she was raised to believe in. It was like someone had casted a ‘Lumos’ in her head and had shown her by clear light what  _ horrific  _ things those prejudices meant. What they stood for. 

Draco was proud of her. She even went to a muggle establishment! Draco counted that as a huge leap in his mothers’ personal growth. The fact that she had reached out to Aunt Andromeda with a written apology two weeks before Draco was off to Hogwarts was evidence of such change within the woman Draco had known all his life. 

She chose to distance herself from Lucius, officially filing for divorce after his sentence. Which, incidentally left her with the fortune that was left after the seizement of the Manor and the fines they had to pay. Draco was immensely proud of her. His mother and him had always been close, even as he grew up she was always a loving mother despite the coldness of his Father. However, Draco found, his mother and him had grown much closer after everything.

Draco was about to open his mouth to spell his curtains open so he could grab ink and one of his quills when the door to the dormitory opened, a small creak breaking the silence that had once been. 

Draco held his breath as he listened to the footsteps, waiting for the door to close again. It never did, however, and Draco could hear someone falling down on their bed and heaving a sigh. 

Whoever had come in must have seen his shut curtains, Draco thought. So whoever had come in didn’t mind that he was there. 

Draco bit his lip as he opened one of his curtains, stepping out of his bed as quietly as he could manage. Before he could turn to look which of the boys had come in, however, he heard footsteps again. 

Draco swallowed, his shoulders tense. There was no reason to be scared, no reason whatsoever. His peers had had multiple occasions to hex or hurt him. They hadn’t taken the chance. Draco had no reason to be afraid. 

With that mantra ringing in his head, he bent down to retrieve one of his quills out of his bedside drawer. Religi had flown off without a response but Draco could use one of the school owls. He could use a walk to the owlery, anyway. Some fresh air and what not. 

“Malfoy.” 

Draco froze. Potter and him had not spoken a word to each other yet. Draco had gone for the strategy that involved avoiding Potter as much as he could and Potter hadn’t reached out himself. Not that he had expected Potter to do so, but it made for no conversation between either of them. 

“Potter.” His hatred for the Savior had gone since sixth year. His desire to be his friend hadn’t left ever since he grew up hearing stories about The Boy Who Lived, even after Potter had rejected his hand prior to their Sorting. Draco couldn’t find the energy to keep up the mock hatred, the cold and harsh words he used to speak with. 

The months after the War had really changed him. 

Draco turned, shoulders squared with quill and ink in hand. Even Potter looked surprised, eyebrows raised. His hair was an unruly mess, as it ever was, and Draco wanted to reach out and attempt to rule it. Just a little bit. He pushed those feelings away with force. Instead, he stared at Potter. 

He may no longer hate him, but his fashion sense left much to work with. 

“May I help you?” He then asked, wanting to at least take the lead in the conversation. Merlin knows Potter could take it anywhere. 

Potter cleared his throat and shook his head, moving out of the way. Draco frowned at him but took his quill and ink before walking off and through the door. 

△⃒⃘

“You  _ talked  _ to Malfoy?” Ron asked, eyes wide. The three of them were sat at the Gryffindor table, dessert on their plates and some Gryffindors already retreating to the common room. Hermione and Ron sat on one side and Harry sat on the other. He kind of felt like the third wheel on the wagon, but he wasn’t going to tell his best friends that. 

Harry hummed, scooping some ice cream into his mouth. “What did you two talk about?” 

“Ronald!”

“ _ What _ ? I am allowed to ask such questions because, in case you have forgotten, Harry is my best friend and Malfoy is his  _ bloody  _ nemesis.” Ron exclaimed, taking his hand away from where it had held Hermione’s above the table. She frowned at him. 

“The War is over, Ron. Malfoy is nothing more than a fellow student now.” She spoke, as calm and collected as ever. 

“Mione! You can’t say that! He called you,” Ron’s voice dropped into a whisper, “a  _ mudblood _ several times! He’s a tosser!” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, whipping her head to the side to look at Ron. Harry watched his best friend’s angry expression morph into anger combined with fondness. Despite her temper and her wittiness, Hermione gave people second chances. Ron was the complete opposite, but they loved each other anyway. 

Harry denied the envy curling in his chest. 

“He may be a bit of an arsehole every now and again, however he has learned. We have been here for two weeks and he has not stepped one toe out of line. That’s more than I can say for you two.” She raised one eyebrow, a move she had perfected over the years. Harry bit his lip to repress a grin. Ron blushed. 

“That was one time, Hermione.” Harry countered. She shook her head. 

“That doesn’t matter! Flying on the pitch in the middle of the night is  _ not  _ part of the peaceful year we came here for!” She exclaimed. Luckily for them, the Gryffindor table had pretty much cleared up. A few other students from different houses lingered in the Great Hall. To Harry’s great annoyance, most of them were younger girls that would cast nervous glances over to their table. 

“Oh come  _ on  _ Hermione! We aren’t allowed to participate in Quidditch anymore. Besides, Harry wanted to fly.” That seemed to lower Hermione’s eyebrow somewhat, her expression morphing into worry. Harry groaned. 

“I’m fine, I promise.” 

“Anyway, you had a fun chat with Malfoy.” Ron interrupted. Harry turned to look at him instead, ignoring Hermione’s worried glance. 

“Well, er--it wasn’t exactly talking? I suppose? I saw him in the dormitory and addressed him. He then asked me if I needed help with anything.” He said, his plate in front of him disappearing just as the last of the desserts did, too. Ron chuckled. 

“That was it?” 

“Well, yes. We don’t really have much to talk about now, do we?” 

Hermione and Ron looked at each other with such expressions it made Harry want to roll his eyes so hard they would get stuck in the back of his head. Harry believed that they all had been extremely close to each other but ever since Hermione and Ron had started dating after the War, it seemed as if they could communicate without actually talking. 

“Of course you don’t, Harry. He’s a tosser, once and for all.” Ron said, eyes still trained on Hermione as if to prove a point. Hermione simply closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. 

“Pansy has offered her apology and has truly changed her views, you know. There’s a possibility Malfoy has done the same.” Hermione offered, knowing full well that Ron wasn’t going to budge. 

“You’ve talked to Pansy?” Ron exclaimed, eyes wide. 

“Well yes, Ronald. Our beds are next to each other. She shares my opinion on the importance of Ancient Runes, unlike some of us.” Hermione stood up and walked off quite quickly. Ron turned to Harry instead, eyebrows raised. 

“I for sure did not see  _ that  _ one coming. Did you, mate?” 

Harry shrugged, not entirely sure what to say to that. Pansy had apologized and Harry had forgiven her, but they hadn’t spoken yet, either. It was a surprise that Hermione had, of all people. 

“Not really,” Harry said, “Shouldn’t you go after her?”

With a loud gasp, Ron was gone from the table, too. Harry was left to sit at the long Gryffindor table by himself, other students long gone. 

Within what felt like two seconds, Harry could sense a group of students standing behind him. He stood up and turned around, greeting the group with a small smile. 

It turned out to be a group of first and second year Slytherins, looking at Harry with something akin to fear and adoration in his eyes. Harry hated crowds and giving out autographs. He despised the attention he got for basically anything he did now and according to the Weasleys, none of it would ever pass. 

It made him want to grimace and scowl, but Harry pulled himself together. A group of first and second years he could handle. They couldn’t be worse than Rita Skeeter, after all.

“Mr. Potter?” A blonde boy asked, blue eyes trained on Harry. The boy kind of reminded him of Malfoy, back in their first year. Except, this boy’s robes were less neat and his hair wasn’t tightly slicked back, something Harry had always hated on Malfoy. 

He forced himself to abandon that particular train of thought and focused back on the group in front of him. “Please, call me Harry.” 

A collective gasp of shock rushed through the group and Harry felt a blush creep onto his cheeks. “May I help you?” 

A girl, who was probably in her second year by now, held out a piece of parchment and a quill. “Would you mind signing this, Mr--uhm, Harry? My father will not stop talking about you and it would make the best Christmas present.” 

Harry felt something warm settle within him. They were not here with ill-intent. He signed the pieces of parchment and pictures of himself that the younger students held out to him, most of the autographs for either family members or themselves. It was endearing, really, and Harry found himself quite content leaving the Great Hall. Usually when people requested an autograph they were quite rude, sometimes even a little bit entitled. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that these were younger kids, Harry wasn’t sure. 

Instead of taking the stairs and making his way to the common room, Harry chose to take a left and walk outside, instead. It was still September, the slight summer breeze warm enough that Harry wouldn’t need a cloak. 

Ron and Hermione were probably in the Common Room, bickering. Or, they could be in an empty classroom snogging the absolute daylights out of each other. Either way, Harry didn’t want to find out. He couldn’t visit Luna or Ginny, either, because they had chosen to eat their dinner at Hogsmeade together with Neville, so he was left alone for the night. 

Not that Harry minded, per se. He had been surrounded by people ever since the end of the Battle of Hogwarts. Healers in St. Mungo’s, the Weasleys all summer at the Burrow, the Weasleys as they helped restore Grimmauld Place to make it liveable for Harry when he would return from Hogwarts and a new addition to his adoptive family; Teddy and Andromeda. 

Teddy was still so small and so young. Within a couple years he would probably want to hear stories about his parents and how bravely they had fought for such a good cause. He would want to hear stories about them, how they were in their daily lives and Harry was ready to tell him. He hoped to be ready when that moment came, at least. 

And if he couldn’t, he would collect his memories of the both of them and let Teddy use them in a Pensieve. Teddy deserved to know the truth about his parents, unlike Harry had gotten when he was younger. 

It hurt his heart daily to know that Teddy would grow up without his parents because Harry knew how it felt. The only difference being that Teddy was going to grow up with a loving family; a loving grandmother, the Weasleys and a godfather that was going to spoil him rotten. 

Harry looked up at the sky, stars easily visible, and he wondered where the Dursleys were. He let himself think for a few moments before pushing that thought away, not wanting to bring up horrible memories before he got to bed. Night time was the time for bad memories and nightmares. The daytime was for experiencing school peacefully for the first time, spending time with his friends and making new memories. 

It was getting dangerously close to night time, however. 

As Harry debated whether to walk down to Hagrid’s hut or not, he felt someone tug him by the elbow and behind one of the stone pillars. Within a second, Harry had his wand out and was about to scream. He froze, however, when he noticed it was no one other than Malfoy staring down at him with his hands in the air.

“Wh--”

“Saw some older Ravenclaws coming your way. I figured you wouldn’t want to deal with them.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows at that. Had Malfoy been following him? Or was he there with mere coincidence as an excuse? Malfoy looked immaculate, as always. His robes were perfectly straight unlike Harry’s--who was only wearing trousers and a jumper, really-- and Harry found himself wanting to tuck the stray piece of hair that fell to the side of Malfoy’s face behind Malfoy’s ear. His hair was no longer slicked back, instead it looked rather soft. He crushed that thought as quickly as it had come, focusing instead on the way he was still pointing his wand at Malfoy. 

He lowered it, sighing “Thanks.”

Malfoy shrugged. He turned to walk away again and Harry panicked just a little bit, wanting to talk to Malfoy. Malfoy had wanted to be his friend, back when they were all still unsorted first years, and he wondered whether that was still the case. After everything that had happened. Or, maybe it was the case  _ again _ . 

Bottom line was, Harry wanted to find out. 

“Malfoy!” 

The blonde turned around, eyes wide in shock before he schooled his expression back to the emotionless face Harry had become acquainted with in their sixth year. Harry wasn’t sure what to say now. The lanterns that lit the stairs outside of the main entrance were starting to magically brighten, courtesy of Professor McGonagall, casting Malfoy in an orange glow that almost made him look friendly. 

Harry wasn’t sure why Malfoy was outside in the first place. He hadn’t seen him in the Great Hall right after Hermione and Ron had rushed off, so he must have been somewhere else. Maybe the dungeons? Or the library? 

“Potter?” Malfoy looked the slightest bit confused, his facade not as strong as it had been before. Harry couldn’t completely blame him. They had managed to not talk for two weeks, to Harry’s slight annoyance, and Malfoy had seemed intent on keeping it that way. Merlin, this had been a bad decision. 

Harry was about to back track again, just like he had done in the dormitories, when Malfoy quirked up one eyebrow and turned around. He waved his hand and Harry took that as a motion and permission to follow him. 

They walked down the gravel path, past the large boulders where Hermione had decked the blond Slytherin in their third year. Harry couldn’t help but snicker at the memory, Hermione’s voice ringing in his ear. It earned him an odd look from Malfoy, who was walking a few steps in front of him, but he shrugged it off. 

“Where are we going?” Harry then asked as they descended down the hill. Malfoy shrugged. 

“ _ I  _ am going to pay Professor Hagrid a visit, if you don’t mind.” It was the first snarky comment Malfoy had made in a  _ very  _ long time and Harry found himself enjoying it instead of the growing irritation and anger that used to fill him every time Malfoy insulted him in the past. He smiled. 

Malfoy was going to Hagrid’s hut. Malfoy had been there a handful of times; in their first year, which led to them having to assist Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest, in their third year because of their classes in ‘Care for Magical Creatures’ and then in their sixth year, when the Death-Eaters had gotten into the school. 

A shiver ran through Harry’s back at the memory. Dumbledore’s death, Snape’s utter  _ betrayal  _ and the pure  _ fear  _ that Malfoy had displayed with the smallest of looks. 

“May I ask why?” Harry then asked. They were halfway down the hill already and Harry could see Hagrid’s hut, light coming from the windows. His garden was rather empty, pumpkin seeds probably just planted, and it looked peaceful. 

Malfoy shook his head, “No Potter, you may not.” 

Harry fell silent after that, following Malfoy down the path. He stood behind Malfoy as he knocked on the door, waiting for Hagrid’s permission to enter. 

“Come on in!” 

△⃒⃘

“Where in  _ Salazar’s  _ name were you last night, Draco?” Pansy screeched, dropping down in the seat across from Draco in the Common Room. It was quiet on a Sunday morning, plenty of room for Draco’s thoughts to fill the space instead. They had been going absolutely mad after the events of last night and he hadn’t been able to sleep properly. 

His History of Magic essay and book lay on the table in front of him, barely touched. Draco had gotten out of bed, hoping to get some work done instead of restlessly tossing and turning. It had taken his brain exactly five minutes to stray from Wandlore to how Potter and him had taken a walk the night before. 

Potter had been a surprisingly welcome support as he had gone down to Hagrid’s hut, something he had thought about doing ever since he had seen the half-giant at the Feast. Draco felt bad about how he treated Buckbeak, no matter how scared he was of the creature. It was a relief that he was still alive, after all. 

Draco had pushed away his past pride and had swallowed the slight bit of arrogance he had left before he went down. Spotting Potter walking outside, closely followed by a group of sixth year Ravenclaws was a sight for sore eyes. The Ravenclaws weren’t close enough for Draco to be seen by them so he had rushed forward and had pulled Potter behind a pillar on instinct. 

The git had pointed his wand at him, eyes full of terror and Draco had regretted his action almost immediately. 

He hadn’t expected for Potter to follow him down to Hagrid’s hut, but it was welcome. It had made Draco’s heart flutter strangely. He was forced to abandon that train of thought however as they were invited inside by Hagrid wearing an apron. 

Apologizing to Hagrid had been long overdue as Draco had realized. The half giant seemed rather pleased with Draco’s development, even going as far as giving him a pat on the shoulder--Draco was convinced he was going to bruise rather hard-- before Potter and him left after a cup of tea. Fang had barked at him, but Draco couldn’t blame the dog for that. He hadn’t been exactly nice to it in the past.

Potter had looked rather pleased as well. He hadn’t said much, mostly let Hagrid and Draco talk. But Draco was calmed by his presence; someone Hagrid saw as a family member was a good support. And everything had gone remarkably well, to Draco’s surprise. He wasn’t quite sure if he deserved the forgiveness he was given, but he wouldn’t take it for granted.

“I went to visit Professor Hagrid.” He answered, crushing all thoughts about Potter that lingered in his head. 

Pansy’s expression morphed from annoyance to a smile. “That’s great. I’m very proud of you, dear.” 

“He forgave me. Even after everything.” 

“Like I said, people want peace. They want the War forgotten, which means forgiving people who had no choice.” Pansy spoke, opening the book she had brought. Draco noticed it to be Ancient Runes, a subject Pansy wanted to do her N.E.W.T.S in. Draco had liked it, too, but he deemed Potions more important. He was sure he would pick something up, though, with the amount of time Pansy and him spent studying together. 

“I had a choice.” Draco spoke, immediately regretting his words as Pansy smacked her book closed, turning to face him on the couch. Draco didn’t have to look up from the paragraph he had pretended to be reading to know that she had a scowl on her face. 

“You did not. Your father is a skilled manipulator. You did not have a choice because your father practically raised you with the idea of becoming a Death-Eater.”

“Bu--”

“I will not have it, Draco! You did  _ not _ have a choice! You are not a murderer, nor a bad person! Well, you can be quite snarky in the mornings sometimes  _ and  _ you have a rather sharp tongue on most days, but you are not the person your father wanted you to be.” Pansy sounded incredibly angry and while Draco didn’t agree with her on most parts, he patted her knee in thanks, hoping it would calm her down. 

“Thank you, Pansy. I appreciate it.” 

Before Pansy could answer, though, another voice presented itself. 

“She is right, you know?” Draco turned his head and was, to his surprise, greeted by Abbott--was it Abbott?-- and Granger. Although Granger stood behind Abbott, clearly just as surprised at Abbott’s words, Draco could see her give a tiny nod. 

“Thanks, Hannah. But we know I’m always right.” Pansy spoke, a smile on her face. 

Granger scoffed from where she was now stood beside Hannah. “Except when it comes to trivia, apparently.” 

“Oh bugger off, Hermione! That was Muggle trivia! Highly unfair!” Pansy protested. The three of them laughed like they were good friends, like they hadn’t been on opposite sides of a War that could have potentially ruined the Wizarding World for good. It was an odd sensation to know that despite what someone may have done, there were always people willing to forgive you, one step at a time. 

If Granger had managed to forgive the girl who had offered Potter up to the Dark Lord not even six months ago, Draco saw a sliver of hope that one day, he could be forgiven too. 

“Thanks, er--”

“Please Draco, call me Hannah.” 

Draco hoped his smile was convincing. 

“We are not our parents, Malfoy.” Granger’s words were slightly hesitant, a waver clearly audible, but Draco was grateful nonetheless. With what he had done to her over the years pure out of prejudice, he had not expected her to forgive him. He wasn’t sure whether he was forgiven yet, but those words sounded like a beginning. A beginning Draco wasn’t sure he deserved, but he would take it. 

Hannah and Granger took a seat on the chairs next to the couch, engulfing Pansy in a conversation. Draco tried to focus on his essay as he listened to the peaceful talking and enjoyed it. He hadn’t been surrounded by such chatter ever since his sixth year, too preoccupied by other matters at the time, and he had missed it greatly. 

“Ron and I are going on a date tonight, actually.” Draco’s focus broke by the immense laughter that erupted from both Hannah and Pansy. Clearly they had been talking about romantic stuff, something Draco did not have  _ any  _ experience in, for Granger was blushing greatly. 

“It’s a bloody Sunday Hermione! Are you going wild?” Hannah joked, earning herself a smack on the shoulder. Draco had to bite back a grin. Granger rolled her eyes. 

“Where are you both even going?” Pansy then asked, eyebrows raised. Date spots around Hogwarts were hard to come by. Sure, Draco had heard of people finding hidden rooms or using abandoned classrooms, but the best option was probably Hogsmeade. And, they were definitely going to break curfew if they went to the village. 

Very unlike Granger, if Draco knew her at all. 

Hermione snorted, “Well--Ron said it was a surprise. My bet is on a picnic, however.” 

“Oh that’s so horribly  _ romantic _ !” Hannah almost swooned, eyes closed as she fell back into her chair. Pansy made a noise of appreciation. 

“Speaking of dates. Hermione?” 

Granger turned her gaze to look at Pansy. Draco forced himself to look back at the paragraph on ash wood he had tried to read seven times already. “Yes?”

“Do you know if Potter is seeing anyone, by any chance?” 

Draco wanted to jinx Pansy on the spot. He wanted to run from the couch, he wanted to cut his ears off and, above all, he wanted to know the answer to that question  _ so  _ much it physically hurt to hold himself back from looking up at Granger. 

He had told Pansy about his maybe slight infatuation with Potter in one of the letters he had sent to her during the Summer, after the Ministry stopped tracking every owl his mother and him sent. Draco had a stack of Daily Prophet’s in his new bedroom back at home, pictures of Potter next to the horrendous articles. He even had one issue of Witch Weekly, when they had interviewed him. 

Her response, of course, was faux-surprise. According to her, Draco had been obsessed with Potter from the first time he saw him. And while yes, Draco had spent quite some time thinking about the handsome git during his time at school, he was sure that it hadn’t been a romantic infatuation back then. That had been for spying purposes, to keep an eye on him. 

Granger shrugged though, as if it was a casual question. “Ginny and him broke up during the Summer, so no. He is not seeing anyone.” 

Draco had been aware of this, too. The papers had published the story two weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, probably to have something else to talk about. He remembered reading it as he sat in the Manor while his parents and him awaited their trial. 

Her grin grew then, “Why, Pansy? Thinking of asking him out?” 

A snort managed to get past Draco’s lips, a rather undignified sound that he had tried  _ really  _ hard to keep inside, gathering the attention of the girls around him. Pansy smacked him on the shoulder. 

“While Potter is quite handsome, as most girls would say, I rather prefer girls thank you  _ very  _ much.” Draco’s eyes widened. He knew about Pansy’s preference, had known for a while, but he hadn’t expected her to be so open about it. 

Granger and Hannah laughed and Granger shook her head, her hair flowing from side to side. “I should have seen that one coming.” 

Pansy snickered, “It’s a surprise, though, isn’t it? That The Boy Who Lived is still single?” 

Granger’s shoulders stiffened just a little bit. Draco doubted Pansy would have noticed in her glee over Hannah’s reaction, who was still giggling, but he could see Granger thinking before she spoke. 

“Harry--Harry has quite a lot of things to sort through before--before he can even think about a relationship, I reckon.” 

Draco hated the sudden solemness that fell over him, making his chest tight. Pansy heaved a sigh next to him. Hannah had fallen silent as well and before any of them could say anything, multiple pairs of footsteps descended the stairs. 

Draco let his shoulders droop the slightest bit, closing his book. He wasn’t going to be able to focus in the Common Room, anyway. He would go down to the library and finish it later. 

“Mione! I’m starving.” Weasley was the first to enter the room, followed closely by Potter and MacMillan. Weasley froze, however, and Draco supposed it was because his girlfriend was sitting with two people he rather disliked. Dare say, Draco believed Weasley hated him. 

He had every right to do so, though. 

“You are always hungry, Ronald.” Granger waved to Pansy and to Draco’s surprise him too, before Hannah and her got up and walked up to Weasley. Draco made eye contact for the slightest of seconds with Potter before he was gone, following Weasley, MacMillan and the girls down the hall and out of the Common Room. 

Potter hadn’t said much the night before as they walked back from Hagrid’s hut to the Common Room. Draco had been rather off it, surprised that Hagrid had forgiven him with a smile on his face. Potter hadn’t said anything, but as they had gotten ready for bed together he had patted Draco on the shoulder, too, and Draco saw that as a win. 

They hadn’t been nice to one another over the years, after all. A pat on the shoulder was a complete change from their earlier sneers, spats and even hexes. Draco still wore the scars from Potter’s ‘Sectumsempra’ from their petty fight in the bathrooms, living proof of what they used to do to each other. 

Draco had listened to Potter casting his silencing spells with his heart beating quickly in his chest, face buried deep in his pillow like a blushing pre-teen. 

“Merlin, Draco. Talk to him!” Pansy sounded exasperated. 

Draco turned his head to look at her, his gaze moving from the spot where Potter had stood to meet her eyes. He raised an eyebrow. “As if it’s that simple.” 

Pansy scoffed, “Potter is a Gryffindor. He’s heroic. He basically lives and breaths second chances.” 

Sometimes Draco was afraid Pansy was a legilimens, with how easily she could read him most days. But, then again, they had grown up together. Of course she knew him well, most times even better than himself Draco mused. 

“Well that doesn’t matter, does it? Even  _ if  _ he gave me a second chance--which he will  _ not _ \-- the whole Wizarding World would disagree.” Draco said. Pansy raised one eyebrow right back at him. 

“And since when has that ever stopped you?” 

△⃒⃘

Harry should have seen it coming. Two weeks had passed and his nightmares had calmed down somewhat. Harry supposed being surrounded by so many people had made his unconsciousness feel safe, and being back at Hogwarts had kept the nightmares mostly at bay. 

He woke up with a scream on his lips almost every morning, whether the dream had featured a bright green flash or the darkness and Uncle Vernon’s screaming didn’t matter. Harry had been able to silence them mostly. 

But he should have seen the nightmares becoming worse. His life could never be peaceful, after all. Two weeks after Malfoy and him had gone and visited Hagrid’s hut, Harry awoke screaming at the top of his lungs just as the Cruciatus curse hit Molly Weasley and Ginny while Luna fell to the floor, Hermione next to her and Ron trapped within the arms of Voldemort. 

Harry stared at the curtains in front of him, heavy breaths leaving his mouth. His chest hurt and the green flash kept coming back in his head. Harry needed to get out. 

Within a second he broke the silencing charms and was on his feet. He snatched his invisibility cloak and slipped on his shoes before he rushed out of the room, to where he wasn’t sure. 

Once he left the Common Room through the portrait, Harold sleeping soundly within, he ran as fast as he could. Harry wasn’t sure what he was running from, but his heart was beating rapidly in his chest and his head hurt. He didn’t dare close his eyes for a second, the burning getting almost unbearable. He didn’t want to blink; the lifeless face of Luna enough to make Harry feel like he was going to vomit. 

He ran down the stairs, jumping as they moved and for a moment Harry was brought back to the Battle. He could hear the curses, the noises of the Castle falling apart and the protective wards around him breaking. Harry heard the laughs of the Death-Eaters as he rushed out of the main entrance and onto the path that led to the Forest. Voldemort’s message to everyone rang through his mind and without thinking, Harry found himself on that exact spot in the Forest. 

He dropped the cloak, tears rushing down his face. His breathing was rapid, too rapid almost, and he fell to his knees with a loud sob. He wanted to scream, beg for everyone that had died back. 

Harry didn’t want Teddy to grow up without his parents. He didn’t want George to miss his twin brother for the rest of his life, the loss of Fred leaving a hole in the Weasley family that no one could ever fill. He wanted to erase the scar on Hermione’s arm, something she hid with Muggle make-up on some days and some days she wore it proudly. Harry wanted to bring Dobby back, the House-Elf who deserved so much more, who had so much life left in him. He wanted to kill the Death-Eater who had taken Colin’s life, a boy too young to die.

He wanted to go back in time, to the night of Halloween 1981 and somehow safe his parents and kill Voldemort in the process. 

Harry screamed loudly, his voice echoing against the trees and bouncing off of them. He didn’t think about which creatures he could possibly awaken with his screams. His throat hurt but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t find it in himself to stop. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed but by the time Harry had been able to drag himself off the dirty forest ground, it had grown a bit lighter around him. He didn’t bother with the cloak until he reached the castle, hiding himself underneath until he reached the portrait. 

“Dusk.” He spoke, startling Harold who had been looking at himself in a handheld mirror. Harry dropped the cloak and Harold scowled at him. 

“Where have you been?” 

“Just let me in, Harold.” Harry snapped. He didn’t want to deal with this. He wanted to crawl back in bed and pretend like nothing had happened. Like he had slept the entire night. If Hermione caught wind of his nightmares getting worse again she would be all over him. Harry wasn’t sure if he could handle that 

“As you wish, you brute.” 

The portrait swung open and Harry stepped through. He swung the cloak back over his head, sneaking his way up the stairs. The boys’ dormitory door was slightly ajar and Harry frowned. He was sure he had closed it in his hurry. 

Before he could think, however, he heard the door of the shared bathroom open beside him. Harry froze midstep, his foot hovering above the stone ground. If he put it down now, Malfoy would hear him. If he didn’t put his foot down, Malfoy would walk right into him. 

So, instead, Harry pushed himself up against the other wall, hoping it gave Malfoy enough room to walk through. When he didn’t feel Malfoy walking into his back and heard the dormitory room open wider, the all saying creak of an old wooden door, he allowed himself to sigh in relief. 

Harry didn’t hear the door closing. He waited for a moment, hoping Malfoy had stepped away from the door and had gone back to bed. He turned around to see that Malfoy had left the door ajar. 

△⃒⃘

Professor Sprout droned on about a Trusera, a particular plant only found in the waters of the Meditteranean Sea. Draco had zoned out the second he realized they were staying inside the classroom for this lesson and not going to any of the greenhouses. His eyes were focused on Potter, who sat a few tables away from him with a quill in hand. 

He hadn’t moved it ever since he got it out. He had dipped it into his bottle of ink five times; Draco had counted from where his head was laid on his arms. 

Draco had only been deeply worried for three people in his life, ever. He had worried about Pansy, whether she would die in the Battle of Hogwarts when Draco wasn’t there. He worried for her as a best friend should, especially after everything that had gone down. He worried for his mother, the woman who had loved him enough to defy the Dark Lord and put her own life at possible risk by exchanging an Unbreakable Vow with Severus. 

He had worried for his Father even, afraid the man would get sucked up in the Dark Lord’s ways and would never come back. 

And now he found himself terribly worried for Potter. Draco had watched him the last few days, had watched the boy’s bags grow darker, had listened to him leaving the dormitories in the darkness of the night and, most of all, had not seen him at breakfast for the past two days. 

Draco remembered watching Potter eat in the years before and he had always been at the Gryffindor table on time--when he wasn’t in the hospital wing--, eating like a starved dragon. 

The flutter his heart would sometimes give had gotten worse at the prospect of something being wrong with Potter. Sometimes, Draco found himself enraged at the thought that something was troubling Potter so horribly once more. The Chosen One deserved a break, if nothing more. 

“Mr. Malfoy?” 

An elbow made contact with his ribs and Draco wheezed, turning his head to scowl at Pansy. Before he could, however, Professor Sprout cleared her throat. “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco tried hard to hide his embarrassment as he made eye contact with the professor, her eyes somehow knowing. It made Draco’s skin crawl. He could hear students around him snickering but Draco tried to ignore it. They were seventh years anyway. 

He was older than them despite the fact that they now shared classes, so he schooled his face into an emotionless expression. 

“Now, Mr. Malfoy. I assume you have completed the reading I assigned during the last class. If you would please explain how to unroot a Trusera while under water, I think the class would appreciate it greatly.” 

Draco wanted to throw a hex at the girl who giggled behind him. He was distracted, however, by Pansy pushing her book slightly to the right as Professor Sprout put away her own. Her hand was resting just under the answer and Draco read it quickly, repeating the words out loud as he kept eye contact with the Professor. 

She nodded, seemingly approving, and whipped her wand. Words appeared on the board which Draco quickly copied, not wanting to get distracted once more. His eyes glanced up at Potter’s back, sometimes, the boys’ quill not moving once during the rest of the class. 

“Where was your head?” Pansy asked as they walked through the corridors. Draco dodged an excited third year Hufflepuff running from a classmate, making his best friend snort. 

Draco shrugged, “Have you noticed anything different about Potter?” 

They turned the corner, getting closer to one of the stairs that led to the Dungeons. Every time they had Potions, Draco held Pansy’s arm as they came closer and closer to the Dungeons. Pansy had grown scared of them, as a residue of being locked in them during the Battle. Despite the fact that they got released, Pansy had confessed her clear dislike for the location. Sadly, she wanted to pass her Potions N.E.W.T.S, so Draco was left resting a calming hand on her arm until they reached the classroom. 

“Not really. Why do you ask?” Pansy answered, a frown evident on her face. Draco assumed she was trying to remember. 

He shrugged. He knew Pansy looked right through his casual manner and knew he was worried for Potter, but the other students around them didn’t have to know. As far as they knew Potter and him had agreed to a truce and that was that. 

“I noticed he has been sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night and returning early in the morning. He has missed breakfast twice now and he looks like he hasn’t slept properly in days.” Draco whispered, noticing a handful of Gryffindors walking past them. He earned himself some nasty looks but he didn’t let it bother him for now, instead focused on the slight fear in his chest that Potter wasn’t fine.

Draco took Pansy’s arm as they descended the stairs, the door to the Potions classroom already opened. Professor Slughorn stood at the door, a smile on his face that dropped as soon as his eyes fell on Pansy and him. Draco had to resist the urge to hex him on the spot. 

While teenagers were more forgiving, Draco had seen it in Hannah, Granger and others in their year, some of the older generations carried great grudges against those who were on the wrong side of the War. Even if they had been forced into such a position. 

Slughorn didn’t greet them as they walked through the door and Draco allowed himself to roll his eyes at the man before he pulled Pansy to a table, sitting down as if nothing had happened and it didn’t bother him one bit. 

Draco adored potions. There was something about the exact measurements, the wonderful or horrifying things you could brew and the surprising freedom that came with inventing new potions. If he could, Draco would make his living off of it after his graduation. Having to suffer a year with someone as Slughorn, sneering down at Draco with every move and grading his potions lower than they were worth was something he would have to conquer. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Potter, Weasley and Granger!” 

The room slowly filled with students and Draco sighed, steadying himself for yet another block of Potions. 

△⃒⃘

The same night Draco was stirred awake by shuffling in the dormitory, a trunk snapping shut a little too loudly for the quiet of the room and then, a few seconds later, the heavy wooden door opening with a creak. 

Before Draco could talk himself out of it, he rushed out of his bed. He barely had time to slip into his slippers before he took off through the opened door, eyes searching for Potter when he reached the Common Room immediately. 

He found it empty, however, and briskly walked toward the portrait. It swung open and for a second Draco stood frozen, hoping that Potter wasn’t anywhere near the damned thing or else he would be caught. 

Draco wasn’t even sure why he was following him. He walked through the opening and turned to look at Harold as the portrait shut again, the man looking at him with annoyance clear on his face. 

“Two students out of bed?” He asked, voice as shrill as ever. Draco schooled his expression. 

“Yes, sir, I’m afraid so. Do you perhaps know in which direction the other student went?” He asked, trying his hardest not to look around. If Draco recalled correctly, Potter had kept his invisibility cloak after the War. 

Harold sniffed, looking at Draco down his nose. “The brute went down the hall.” 

_ Brute _ ? Draco refrained from snapping at the portrait. What did this man know? Potter’s reflex to take out his wand at the start of the year was nothing more than a habit formed out of trauma. 

_ Trauma that you caused, Draco.  _

Draco ignored the voice in his head which sounded much like his father as he kept eye contact with the portrait. “What does he look like when he returns?”

Perhaps if he could figure out if Potter had any dirt on him or dust, Draco would know where he went during the night. 

Harold shrugged, “His abysmal hair dishevelled, truthfully a lost cause that one, and red faced. His feet are often covered with dirt.” 

This time, Draco allowed himself to bristle. Potter’s hair wasn’t anything to write home about, sure, but it was  _ his  _ hair. And despite the fact that it was horrendous and uncontrollable, Draco thought it was endearing. The fact that this mere portrait thought Potter was a lost cause sat wrong with Draco, rage forming in his chest. 

He turned away from the portrait and walked off, down the hall. With every corner Draco took he looked out for Professors on the move and Prefects that, technically, held no jurisdiction over them since the eight-years didn’t belong in a particular house. 

Draco found himself outside less than seven minutes later, the fall breeze hitting him. He looked down the hill, finding the lights on in Hagrid’s Hut. Draco quickly rushed down the hill, his shoes crunching down the gravelled path. When he reached the edge of the Forest, he took out his wand and cast a dim ‘Lumos’, hoping his gut feeling was right and Potter had indeed fled to the Forest. 

Draco regretted his decision to follow Potter into the forest almost immediately. The adrenaline of having to find him and make sure he was okay dissipated as he set one foot into the forest, sounds of creatures within its darkness chilling Draco to his core instantly. 

He stood, very quietly, at the edge of the trees. His lumos was enough to cast a silver glow over the first few trees but darkness lay beyond, setting Draco’s hair on end. He could turn around, sneak into the castle and crawl into bed and forget about Potter. 

Draco found himself wondering, however, why Potter went to the Forest. He knew Potter had nightmares--anyone who had been through what Potter had gone through would--he had them too, but he remembered being woken by Weasley and Potter sneaking out of the dormitory with their brooms in the dark of night in their first week of classes. 

Why was Potter not doing that anymore? Why the Forest, of all places? The place where he had  _ died _ and come back again. No one except him knew exactly what had gone down that fateful night but Draco could take a guess at how unpleasant it must have been. 

Dread filled Draco at the thought. Potter had died, had been prepared to die in order to save all of them, even those who didn’t deserve it. 

Draco supposed that was just who Potter was, ready to dive head first into anything if it meant saving someone else. Even if it would scar, or even worse, kill him in the process. 

It used to annoy him so much when Potter did such things. Draco remembered the anger he had felt when Potter saved Delacour’s little sister as well as Weasley. Always going around, saving others and endangering himself. Potter could have  _ drowned _ . And while Draco had supported Krum over anyone else in that horrible Triwizard tournament, he remembered the fear he had felt with each second that passed with Potter still below the water surface. 

Draco chuckled softly at the memory, sadness filling him. Recognizing his emotions had gotten easier after the War, after he finally allowed them to come. Even when they were for someone who confused Draco as much as Potter did. He couldn’t quite recognize and center the emotions he felt whenever he thought of Potter, but he had time. 

Time he had been given by Potter himself. 

He hated Potter’s heroic antics, his Gryffindor courage to just  _ do  _ something despite the consequences. Draco had watched Potter do many things without thinking properly, without knowing what he was doing. And it used to aggravate him so much. According to Pansy, however, the anger Draco felt was actually envy and jealousy. Draco had never corrected her, never fought against her comments because, ever since Potter had saved him from the Fiendfyre, Draco wasn’t so sure anymore. 

He could have kissed Potter that night, but they had a Battle to fight. In which they stood on opposite sides, Draco ‘supporting’ a man who was out to kill Potter and Potter with his heart of gold. 

Draco shivered, still stood on the edge of the Forest. He couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of the leaves rustling in the wind, noises of those who lived within the Forest and it scared Draco. It reminded him of the night Potter and him had to help Hagrid and found that deceased unicorn. How Potter had been frightened by a black hooded figure and was still able to smile when Hagrid found them. 

How Draco had  _ ran.  _

He took a step forward, bracing himself for whatever could be within the Forest. Draco needed to find Potter. And then--

And then what? What would Potter say after Draco found him? What would Draco do? Would Draco explain things, how Potter has not left his thoughts for even a  _ second  _ ever since their first year, when Draco first heard Potter was in his year, was on the Hogwarts Express. 

How Potter had not left his head ever since their fourth year, when Potter had come back from the Maze clutching a dead Cedric Diggory in his arms and screaming that Voldemort was back. That the Dark Lord had returned and that he had killed the Hufflepuff prefect. 

Draco shook his head. No. He wouldn’t say that to Potter. Not in a million years. He would find him, drag him back to the castle without saying a  _ word  _ and then he would. Then he would act like nothing happened, Draco supposed. Maybe they would go from polite nods to actual greetings. But Draco expected nothing more. 

Draco knew Potter didn’t hate him. If he did, Potter would have sent his mother and him straight to Azkaban. But Draco also knew that Potter had every right to at least dislike him, or want his distance from him. 

Draco walked forward, holding his wand in such a way he was able to see further in front of him but could also cast a defense spell when he needed. As he got deeper and deeper into the Forest, he was able to hear more. 

He could hear birds, who shouldn’t be awake at this moment. He could hear the echo of the centaurs, who were miles and miles away but still made Draco’s heart thunder in his chest and his shoulders go rigid. He could hear a howl, something Draco knew he was imagining. There hadn’t been a werewolf in these Forests ever since professor Lupin left the school, which at the time had filled Draco with glee. Draco refused to think of the times Greyback had resided in the Forest. 

Whenever he thought of it now, he wished he could go back in time and prevent Severus from exposing him as a werewolf. He wished he could go back in time and demand he stay, even if it was just for Potter’s sake. 

Draco knew Potter and him had been close. Draco knew that his second cousin Teddy was now Potter’s godson and Draco also knew that his lovely Aunt Bellatrix had killed the only resemblance of a family member Potter had left. 

_ Salazar _ , why was Draco doing this again? 

Before he could hesitate, though, Draco found himself entering a clearing. The trees opened up to reveal dark green grass and a slight silver simmer coming from between them, a hunched up figure sat next to the source of the light. Draco’s heart clenched at the sobs he could now hear, a silencing charm clearly in place to keep creatures and humans from hearing what was happening in the clearing. Now that Draco was in, however, Potter’s sobs were heartbreaking and almost too intense for Draco to deal with. 

Potter hadn’t noticed him, probably too far down in the darkness his nightmares provided. Draco could see Potter’s shoulders shake with each heart wrenching sob, cries and screams leaving the boy’s mouth as he sat there. Draco looked around, looking for what he didn’t know. Maybe a clue as to why Potter sat here, of all places. Perhaps a sign that he wasn’t completely alone in this dangerous Forest that could easily kill Potter if it wanted to. 

But maybe it didn’t want to kill Potter. Maybe the Forest remembered that Potter had died within its vicinity already, treasured the memory and therefore left Potter alone. Draco wasn’t sure if the Forest had spoken to the creatures that lived in the woods, though. 

Draco wasn’t sure what to do now. He stood in the clearing, his feet now cold with the dew that lay on the grass. Potter was too far gone for Draco to just speak up. He would scare Potter, perhaps so much that he would go into shock. Draco couldn’t exactly sit down next to him, either, because--well, because Draco wasn’t sure how Potter would react to that. 

So instead Draco chose the next best thing. He walked up to Potter and stood next to him and fell quiet. He stood still, eyes trained on the back of Potter’s head. Draco wasn’t sure for how long he stood there, listening to Potter’s cries and screams, but he knew that in that moment he wanted to take everything that had hurt Potter in the past and curse it all the way to the ends of the world where it could no longer touch him, where Draco would destroy it and then go back to Potter and hold him close. 

The feelings weren’t new. Draco had wanted to do it in sixth year, when his feelings of hatred turned to admiration and Potter seemed so lost, weakening under the pressure of Dumbledore’s wishes and requests and nearly collapsing. When he himself was working with the pressure of the Dark Lord, a task he had no way of completing for he was not able to do such a thing, all he wanted to do --to his own greatest horror--was walk those stairs to the damned Gryffindor Tower and crawl into bed with Potter and just  _ hold  _ him. 

When Potter was taken to the Manor and he had to identify him, all Draco had been able to feel was relief for he was alive and unharmed. Even though his Father was breathing down his neck, his deranged Aunt holding tightly onto Potter’s hair and his mother was standing a few feet away, all Draco had been able to think about was that he needed to get Potter out. That Potter needed to win this War. 

And here he was, the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived Twice. Traumatized to the very core, scarred and utterly  _ broken  _ because of something that had been completely out of his control. 

Draco didn’t pitty Potter, for he hadn’t always been the Saint everyone thought he was, but he felt for him. 

Draco could hear a bird in the distance and he turned his head, the Forest still as dark as it had been when he first stood next to Potter. The leaves were still as restless, the sounds of the creatures within the Forest equally as daunting as before. 

Draco almost jumped out of his own skin when he felt a hand curl around his ankle, cold fingers touching the bare skin that Draco’s pajama bottoms couldn’t reach. He managed to bite it back, however, when he realized that it was most likely Potter who had taken hold of his ankle. 

Potter held on without saying anything, his sobs turning into whimpers before it went completely quiet around them. Draco refrained from making any noise, even going as far as controlling his breathing to not be too loud, for he was scared that noise would break the moment, would take this away from him. 

If anyone saw them like this they would probably both be sent to St. Mungo’s. Or at least taken to Madame Pomfrey. But no one was around them; it was just the two of them. And to his own surprise, Draco couldn’t feel any fear in the way Potter held onto his ankle, his fingers clutched tightly around it as if it was a lifeline, as if he let his grip loose, Draco would run. 

And maybe past Draco would have. Past Draco wouldn’t have even gotten out of bed if one of his fellow Slytherin’s had gone wandering around the castle because of stupid nightmares. But Potter was no fellow Slytherin and Draco wasn’t his past self anymore. Hadn’t been for a very long time. 

“Why?” 

Potter’s voice was hoarse and scratchy, dampened by the angle of his face. His mouth was pressed into his knee and it sounded like he was biting down on something. Draco tried to calmly-- _ tried _ \-- move his gaze from where he had been staring at a tree to look at Potter, instead. 

Draco still didn’t have a reason ready yet. What he was doing was so unlike him, whether he was the New Draco or the older version of himself. It was complete and utter bollocks, something a lunatic would do to prove their love for someone. Follow them into a Forest that had the potential to kill them within the split of a second, and yet here Draco was. 

Stood in said Forest with Harry  _ sodding  _ Potter’s fingers wrapped around his left ankle like a damned lifeline. 

But Potter seemed content to not hear Draco’s reason. He fell quiet again, his head not lifting from its position. 

“Are you alright?” 

Draco wanted to smack himself. Charm his own hair  _ bright  _ pink and walk into a Dragon’s den with meat stuck to his body. What kind of a question was  _ that _ ?

Potter sniffled, however, followed by a wet chuckle that had Draco’s heart beating a little faster. 

“Doing as good as you’d expect, really.” 

Potter didn’t stray from his position and it made Draco want to scowl at him. He had seen Potter in far worse conditions and the least he could do was make damned eye-contact. 

Draco closed his eyes and counted to ten, knowing full well that that request was quite unrealistic from him, especially since Potter didn’t owe him anything. 

“You should come back inside. You will catch a cold.” 

Potter stayed silent for a bit, his fingers still not letting go of Draco’s ankle, until he nodded. Draco missed Potter’s hand on him the second he let go and stood up. Draco knew he was being ridiculous, but he allowed himself to be for a moment as Potter seemed to gather himself, taking his wand and stretching. 

Draco noticed the Invisibility cloak tightly clutched in Potter’s hand and he bit back a grin. He knew Potter so well. As courageous as he was, he still didn’t have the guts to wander the castle without the damned thing. 

“Thanks.” 

Draco wasn’t sure what Potter was thanking him for. “For what?” He asked, hiding his confusion but raising his eyebrow. He held his wand a little higher to give Potter more light as he shuffled his shoes back on --Draco hadn’t noticed the git had sat there  _ barefoot _ \-- and shrugged. 

“For following me out here, I suppose. I know you don’t like the Forest all that much.” Well, Potter was right about that. The only person insane enough to like the Forest seemed to be Hagrid, who cared for the creatures within as much as he cared for his own dog. 

“Why did you go here, if I may ask?” 

They were having a somewhat civil conversation, Draco noticed, without either one of them wanting to hex each other into oblivion. Draco laid a hand on his chest, remembering that day in the bathroom and Moaning Myrtle’s screams. Perhaps the both of them had changed after the War. 

Potter shrugged. They kept walking and while Draco had no idea where to, Potter seemed to know where he was going. “Ran here the first night the nightmares got really bad. I’ve just been coming back here ever since.” 

Draco looked around. The Forest looked like the place that would materialize in one's greatest nightmares. It didn’t look like the spot where one would go to distract themselves from said nightmares. 

He didn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t expected Potter to answer so honestly. He hadn’t expected Potter to answer at all. 

“Do you have them?” Potter then asked, taking Draco’s attention away from a bush that seemed to move away from them as they kept on walking. Draco stayed silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. How much could he tell Potter? How much did he  _ want  _ to tell Potter? 

“Some days.” Draco answered, settling with the vagueness of his answer. Potter seemed satisfied, however, and they reached the edge of the Forest in complete silence. They stood side by side for a moment, the lanterns around Hagrid’s hut no longer lit like they had been when Draco had first rushed out of the castle to find Potter, before Potter took his invisibility cloak and swung it around his shoulders. 

Draco supposed it was everyone for themselves. A detention wouldn’t look good for him, with his history and all, but he could brace it. Draco was about to jokingly ask Potter what type of detentions he thought they would give out to eight-years, when Potter reached out a hand. 

Draco raised an eyebrow. Potter scoffed. In the light of Draco’s lumos he could clearly see Potter’s tears-stained cheeks, puffy red eyes and his voice was still as hoarse. He could almost physically see as Potter put his bravado back on and turned back into his role of The Chosen One, unafraid and perfect as ever. 

“I’m not going to leave you here, you git. Get under the cloak.” Potter whispered. The insult stung just a little as Draco took a step forward, standing behind Potter. He got under the cloak and couldn’t help but gasp. His sight had gone blurry from the fabric of the cloak and Draco was worried he would give them away as they started walking. Potter walked with such ease in his step it made Draco want to know with who Potter would sneak around the castle with, under this cloak. 

Draco refused to think about the intimacy of it all. He could feel Potter’s back against his front, something he had thought about quite often. Draco could smell Potter’s hair --and if he inhaled a little sharper because  _ Salazar  _ it smelled good nobody needed to know-- and could feel the heat of Potter’s body on his own. 

Fuck. If his fantasies hadn’t made him crave Potter more, this sure as fuck would. 

They walked through the entrance and onto the stairs with shuffling feet, making it to a sleeping Harold with such ease that Draco wondered if there were any prefects or professors out in the castle  _ at all _ . 

Draco bit back the frown and pushed away the sinking feeling in his chest when Potter pulled the cloak off of the both of them. Draco shivered as Potter stepped away from him, his heat leaving Draco. He allowed himself to mourn the loss for a quick moment as Potter knocked on the portrait to wake Harold. 

“ _ Harold _ !” Potter whispered, startling the man within the portrait. He let out a loud huff, his eyes scanning Potter and Draco with disdain. 

“Oh I see he found you then, did he? Saving the damsel in distress?” 

Draco cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks heat up with a blush. He had never been able to hide those rosy cheeks, his pale skin the cause of that, but he would like for Potter  _ not  _ to see them. It would be humiliating and tear apart whatever Potter and him had now, after what had happened tonight. 

“Dusk.” 

With protest, Harold swung the portrait open. They couldn’t go through without the echoes of Harold’s monologue filling their ears, the quiet of the Common Room a treasure as the portrait closed again. However, when Draco found Potter looking at him with wonder in his eyes, the quiet around them lay heavy on his chest. 

For a second Draco thought he saw curiosity and hope, too, but he shrugged it off. This was Harry Potter. He could  _ never  _ harbor any sort of positive feelings for Draco, not after everything they had gone through together. 

“I’m going back to bed.” Draco cut whatever it was short, his emotions getting too much of a handle on him. There was anger, anger for Draco had false hope that maybe Potter would give him a chance. Draco could feel the utter sorrow at the thought of that never happening. And he definitely did not want Potter to see any of those emotions. 

So, without much of another word, Draco stalked up the stairs and into the boys’ bedroom, tucking himself under his duvet before he could change his mind. His heart ached at the thought of Potter standing in the middle of the Common Room, confused and probably laughing at Draco. Poor, deranged Draco. Maybe Azkaban had been the right place for him, after all. Or the Psych Ward in St. Mungo’s. 

Draco counted away the seconds till he heard the door creak again, Potter muttering silencing charms as he got into his own bed. Silence stretched along the room, the snores of Longbottom and McMillan echoing against the walls every now and then. 

Draco wanted to crawl out of bed and into Potter’s. He wanted to hold the boy close, let him cry into his shoulder and feel his warmth against his chest. And Draco hated himself for it. 

△⃒⃘

“Harry? Harry--are you alright?” 

Ron prodded at Harry’s arm with lack of subtlety, making Harry almost faceplant against the wooden Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Hermione managed to hold her hand out just in time, startling Harry completely out of his thoughts. 

“Harry!” Hermione screeched, almost knocking over her morning tea. 

Harry shook his head, “M’ fine Hermione, I promise.” 

“You look exhausted, mate.” Ron commented, earning him a smack against his shoulder from his girlfriend. Harry refrained from chuckling at the disdained look on his best friend’s face. 

Hermione looked back at him and Harry cowered a little. Hermione could be incredibly intimidating whenever she wanted to be. She raised an eyebrow without question, asking for an explanation. 

Harry hadn’t told them about how his nightmares had gotten worse. When the first nightmare had come, their first week of classes, Ron had taken him out to the pitch for a fly. And while Harry had appreciated it, he also knew that he couldn’t keep doing that. Ron needed his sleep, needed his good grades and, above all, he didn’t want him to worry. 

Ron had enough things to think about as it was.

Which left Hermione, his best friend who desperately wanted to get a job within the Ministry to turn things upside down, especially for those who lack a voice to do it for themselves. She was determined to continue her S.P.E.W campaign, which had given Kreacher a pure  _ fright  _ when she had asked the poor old house elf about it, and work her way up. 

Her dream was to become Minister of Magic, something she needed to put her mind to. And Harry’s nightmares would distract her from those. 

He had no one to talk to about them, and Harry was okay with that. He didn’t want anyone to worry about him anymore. He could handle himself. Or so he thought, until Malfoy of all people had followed him into the Forest and had comforted him in his own, strange way. Harry flushed with embarrassment at the memory of him holding tightly onto Malfoy’s skinny ankle. 

“For  _ Godric’s  _ sake, Harry! Did you sleep at all last night?” Hermione exclaimed, gathering some attention from the students around them. Neville stopped eating while Ginny just stared and Harry inwardly groaned. This was the exact opposite of what he wanted. 

“Not that well, but I’m  _ fine _ , Hermione. Trust me.” 

She didn’t look convinced but bit her lip instead of pushing further, Ron’s hand on her arm holding her back. Harry nodded at him, eternally grateful for how well his best friend knew him. He also knew that this wasn’t the end of it. They would corner him later on, interrogate him about what had been going on and then try to find a solution. That’s how things had always worked for them. 

But Harry didn’t want them to focus on him. Things were going well between them, the usual fights from their clashing personalities aside, and Harry wanted them to focus on each other and their future. They knew what they were going to do. Ron was going to help George in the shop and Hermione was off to the Ministry. 

And Harry? He had no clue. No clue whatsoever. The Aurors had seemed like the most obvious choice, but now Harry wasn’t so sure anymore. He wanted something simple, grounding and with structure and routine. Not the dangers that working as an Auror would bring Harry. He had had enough of dangerous situations to last him four lifetimes. 

“This week is the first Quidditch game!” Ginny exclaimed, probably desperate to break the silence that had fallen. She was now the captain, well on her way to getting scouted for  _ several  _ professional quidditch teams, and the team she had formed was going to present Gryffindor with wins only, according to her. 

The conversation shifted and Harry allowed himself to zone out again, his eyes travelling across the Great Hall with ease. He could see Malfoy and Pansy chatting about something, a slight smile playing on Malfoy’s lips as they did so. 

Their encounter had been strange at best, but Harry found himself enjoying Malfoy’s smile more and more. Harry had come to terms with his maybe crush after Ginny and him broke up, after he had accepted he might fancy guys more, and it was absolutely the most odd thing Harry had ever felt. 

Dare he say it was less strange when Voldemort was in his thoughts. It was Draco  _ sodding  _ Malfoy, ex-Death-Eater and school known bully. Not as much anymore, however, because as far as Harry knew, Malfoy had stayed within the lines so far and was civil against everyone, even if they didn’t show him the same courtesy. 

He knew ninety-five percent of the school population hated Malfoy. The rest merely disliked him, Harry guessed. But, for being in such a predicament, Malfoy carried himself rather well. Perhaps it was the presence of Pansy, but Malfoy seemed calmer. More collected. 

Harry reckoned having the Dark Lord in his home had put quite the strain on Malfoy and now that he was gone, the threat gone and his freedom had been given back, Malfoy seemed eager to leave it all behind. 

And Harry had nothing but respect for Malfoy when it came to that. It took a lot to change so suddenly and so severely, but it seemed that Narcissa Malfoy and him were dead set on abandoning their old ways and start over. 

Harry never regretted speaking for them both at their trial. Mrs. Malfoy had helped save his life, after all. And, well, Malfoy never stood a chance, never had a choice. Harry wanted to give him that choice, present him with the freedom he deserved. 

Malfoy was grinning at Pansy and Harry felt a pang of envy shoot through him. He wanted to make Malfoy laugh like that. He wanted to do much more to Malfoy, but he forced himself to suppress those feelings and turn back to his friends. He could feel Hermione’s eyes on him but Harry tried to ignore them. They would talk later. For now, Harry cast a glance toward the Slytherin table every now and again as he munched on his breakfast. 

△⃒⃘

A few weeks had passed, the night of Halloween fast approaching, and Draco had followed Potter on Hogwarts’ grounds every time he had heard him wake up after a nightmare. Some nights, they would talk. They would talk about nothing in particular, always skimming past the sensitive topics that formed their past. Some nights they didn’t talk and on those nights Draco allowed himself to look at Potter and  _ dream.  _ Think of things that would never happen and wish for things Draco could never get. 

There was a significant lack of insults, sarcastic jabs and jinxes between them, even while alone. Draco had bit back some of them, especially whenever Potter said something  _ utterly  _ ridiculous like “I reckon I could beat you at a Seeker’s match” but sometimes they slipped out and they had a laugh.  _ A laugh.  _ Potter didn’t throw up his walls every time Draco made a jab and when Potter was the one to jab, Draco didn’t raise his hackles. 

It was odd, but in the best way possible. As if an unspoken rule had formed, invisible boundaries had been set. Neither of them had the energy to insult one another anymore, at least not negatively.

Once again, Draco found himself woken up by a trunk shutting a little too loudly. Without a thought, Draco stood up and took his wand.

Potter looked at him from across the room, the slightest bit startled, but seemed relieved that it had been Draco and not anyone else. Potter didn’t seem in that much of a rush this time and if Draco didn’t know any better, he would think Potter was waiting for him to put his shoes on and wrap a cloak around himself. And after the past few weeks, Draco allowed himself to almost believe it. 

They walked out of the dormitory without a word spoken, down the stairwell and into the Common Room. With the soft orange hue coming from the lanterns hanging along the wall, Draco could see Potter’s blood-shot eyes, tear-stained cheeks and a tremble to his lips. 

Draco wanted to hug him. Instead, he nudged Potter toward the portrait and let him pass through before stepping out himself. Harold was asleep, thank  _ Merlin _ , and sneaking out of the lone corridor was easy. Before they passed the corner, however, Potter held out his arm to stop Draco midstep. 

Draco turned his head to look at him, warmth spreading across his chest from where Potter’s hand was pressed against it. He could feel Potter’s magic buzzing underneath his skin again and Draco wondered how Potter could function with so much raw  _ power  _ surging under his skin. He had felt it when Potter had been pressed against his chest all those times, but had shrugged it off. Feeling it skin to skin was always an experience that Draco could never get sick of. 

He always knew Potter was powerful, a very strong wizard. He had been able to produce a Patronus in their third year, for the love of Merlin. Slaying the Dark Lord aside, Draco always knew that Potter was a more than capable wizard. The scars that still littered his chest from their sixth year was right proof of this fact, but Draco hadn’t expected to be able to actually  _ feel  _ such copious amounts of magic coursing through Potter. 

Potter held up the Invisibility Cloak with one hand and once again Draco was grateful to James Potter. Because one, they wouldn’t get caught sneaking around the grounds--it had almost happened quite a few times-- and Draco wouldn’t wake up to a very disappointed letter from his mother, and two because, well, Potter would be pressed up against Draco’s chest again. And that was a feeling Draco couldn’t get enough of. 

Potter took his place in front of Draco and handed him the cloak. Draco threw it over the both of them and they shuffled through the corridor, down the stairs and onto the Hogwarts’ grounds with the same ease as they had done the first time. 

This time, however, Potter didn’t go for the Forest. For the past couple weeks, it had always been the Forest. Whether it was the edge of it or that clearing, it was always the Forest. He shook off the cloak and took it before darting off down the hill, bounding towards the Lake instead. Draco stood there for a second, completely frozen and lost on what to do. Annoyance flared in his chest because  _ dammit _ , Potter had left him exposed to any Professors or prefects walking the grounds, but it was quickly pushed down because Potter didn’t throw the cloak back on. Instead, he kept running. 

So, in a stupid haze of a horribly weird crush that could only end badly in Draco’s opinion and utter  _ worry  _ for what Potter had dreamt again, Draco broke out into a sprint and followed Potter down the hill.

It felt freeing, to run and not think. Draco focused on Potter’s back far ahead of him and just ran, one foot in front of the other. The summer had passed, making place for slightly chilly autumn nights that were still bearable without a coat and Draco inhaled sharply, the scent of pumpkin’s, grass and Potter’s stupid cologne clogging his airways. He could feel his lungs starting to burn and Potter came to a halt ahead of him, standing at the shore with his head down. 

As Draco approached, his steps faltered, his heart beating incredibly quickly in his chest. The moon beat down on Potter, casting a white glow on him that had Draco mesmerized. Potter’s golden skin was darker in the night but the moon lit it up and he looked stunning. Draco wanted to kiss the patch of tan skin at the nape of Potter’s neck. 

When Draco found his sanity back, he moved to stand next to Potter. Potter sat down on the ground, not bothered by the dirt and sand dirtying his trousers. Draco was wearing silk. He refused to sit down on  _ dirt _ in these trousers. 

“May I ask why the lake?” 

A heavy silence fell in which Potter took out the cloak again and draped it over the dirt. As if he had read Draco’s fucking mind. Draco would marry this man if he had the chance. It was a feverish thought, something that he pushed down almost immediately because what the actual  _ Merlin’s balls  _ was happening to Draco? 

“Dreamt of the night in the Forest. Didn’t want to go there.” Potter answered after Draco sat down on the cloak. His tan finger was drawing circles in the dirt in front of him, Potter hunched over. Draco wanted to touch him, to wrap an arm around Potter and hold him close but he knew that Potter would flinch away. That he would make it worse. 

Draco hummed as a response. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Potter never wanted to talk about his nightmares, even though Draco always offered. The first few times, Draco didn’t offer. He would wait for Potter to start the conversation, often about something completely opposite of nightmare material. After Draco realized that Potter probably didn’t talk about his nightmares to his friends, he started offering to listen. 

He wanted to help Potter, in any way he could. He wanted to relieve the pain, even for just a little bit. Draco knew there was nothing he could do to force Potter to share his stories and he doubted that Potter trusted him enough to even do so, but Draco kept offering. 

It looked like Potter wasn’t going to share anything tonight, either. Draco settled on the cloak, his eyes trained on the water in front of them. He listened to the water and Potter’s quiet breaths, watched as Potter wiped at his face angrily. 

“I died that night, you know?” 

Draco’s breath hitched. He knew that already. But there was something in Potter’s voice that refrained him from talking just yet. Instead, he waited for Potter to continue talking, if he would and wanted to. 

Potter took a deep breath and Draco turned to look at him. Potter turned his head up right, eyes now on the sky. The moon was half, the full moon waiting for Halloween, and Potter seemed enchanted by it, almost. “I saw my parents.” 

Now  _ that  _ Draco hadn’t known. But he buried his shock, his questions and the rage that bubbled up at the waver in Potter’s voice. Of all the times Draco regretted his past actions, he regretted making fun of Potter for not having a family especially in this moment. The poor boy had seen his parents right before he walked straight to death himself. 

“And Sirius and Lupin. They promised they would stay with me, till the very end. But when Voldemort pointed his wand at me, I felt so utterly alone. It was as if no one was there, like everyone had left me.” Potter’s voice was quiet, fragile and Draco remained silent, afraid he would tear the moment apart with a simple word. Guilt, rage and sympathy surged through his chest at Potter’s words, who had walked to his own death in order for others to keep on living. 

“I had a chance to stay. To not go back and follow everyone I have ever loved into death.” Draco recognized the extreme courage it must have taken Potter to utter those words, for his voice was vulnerable and fragile and Draco hated it. Potter deserved rest. He deserved happiness. After everything that he had done for the Wizarding World, for his friends, family and even his  _ enemies _ , Harry Potter deserved nothing more than happiness. 

Or at least a reprieve from his nightmares, his guilt and everything that had come with becoming The Boy Who Lived Twice that everyone else didn’t see. The Daily Prophet spoke of Potter as if he was doing incredible, if the issues Pansy skimmed through were anything to go by, and nothing was further from the truth.

Draco feared their hero had crumbled. 

“I am certain I am not the only one who is glad you didn’t choose to leave. Even when you were given the chance to.” It was the first time Draco spoke in what seemed like hours and even Potter seemed a little shocked, his head turning to look at Draco with his eyebrows raised. There was a ghost of a smile on his face and it made Draco’s heart flutter. 

“Thank you, Malfoy.” 

Draco just hummed and shrugged, as if it was nothing. He hoped he was nonchalant enough. 

Silence blanketed them for a long stretch of time, the two sitting together side by side by the water. It hit Draco as odd, a wave of emotion coursing through him so intensely it made his throat burn. Never in a million years had he dreamt of such a moment. It felt intimate, like their little secret. What Potter just told him was to be kept secret between them, Draco knew, and it made him feel special. He knew this was a selfish thought, but he couldn’t shake it off. Of all people Potter was close with, he chose Draco. 

“It’s odd isn’t it?” Potter asked, as if he had read Draco’s mind. 

“What is?” Draco asked, tentatively. Behind them leaves rustled and Potter went rigid for the briefest of seconds before relaxing again, his fingers wrapped around his wand. 

“How, last year, we were so different and fighting each other. And yet here we are.” Merlin’s balls, had Potter actually read Draco’s mind? Was he a ligimens? Or had Pansy thought him a thing or two? Draco knew Granger and Pansy were now sort of friends, so maybe Potter and Pansy were, as well. Of course, if that was the case, Pansy would have told Draco. Right? She would have. 

Ignoring the feeling in his chest at Potter’s tone, Draco nodded. Potter hadn’t sounded agitated or angry, at all. He sounded hopeful, oddly so, and Draco allowed himself to dip his toe in the warmth that spread through him at the feeling that yeah, maybe Potter and him could be friends. 

Draco wanted more than that, sure, but he would take anything he could get. 

“We grew up.” Draco said. Potter nodded, seemingly agreeing with him. 

“You changed, so much.” Potter whispered, as if Draco wasn’t supposed to hear it. Which was rather dumb because Draco was sitting no less than fifty centimeters away from Potter, but he shrugged it off. 

“Well, yes. After the Battle I had a lot of time to think about things while being locked in the Manor,” Draco sighed, was he really about to tell Potter this? All of it? He supposed it was only fair, Potter having shared his borderline suicidal thoughts, so he squared his shoulders. 

Potter had fully turned to him now and Draco relished in the undivided attention. “It looked horrendous. After the Dark Lord moved in, it wasn’t the same anymore. It was no longer the home I grew up in. I despised it. So, when Father was captured and taken into custody, Mother, the house elves that hadn’t wanted to be released and I went through the entire Manor, room for room, and threw anything out that was too dark. Too solemn. Everything that reminded us of the Dark Lord we vanished, and we cleaned it. Every  _ bloody  _ room that bastard had set foot in we cleaned and emptied. And when the Ministry came to seize the Manor I felt nothing but relief. After you spoke for Mother and I at the trials, we found a town-house and made it ours. Mother and I took the time to grieve, to learn and to change our perspectives.” 

Draco had closed his eyes halfway through his story and when he opened them again, he was met with Potter’s  _ beautiful  _ green eyes looking at him with such intensity it scared Draco just a little bit. 

“Your Mother, as well?”

Draco nodded, “Yes. My Mother has changed her name back to Black and the divorce has been finalized. She had distrust for the Dark Lord during sixth year and my Father had become fully mad. The Battle of Hogwarts was a turning point for the both of us. We realized we were wrong, that what we were brought up with to believe was prejudiced and incredibly  _ untrue  _ and ever since we have tried to learn and to change.” 

Draco had thought a lot about this moment. About when Potter was going to realize that Draco was no longer the self-centered, spoiled prick he used to be. But never in a million years had he imagined he would get to tell Potter himself how it happened, without the other throwing jinxes or hexes or even, very muggle of him, punches. 

Potter sat calmly, and Draco noticed a slight twitch at the corner of Potter’s mouth. It wasn’t anything close to a smile but Draco would take it. 

△⃒⃘

Harry yawned from the corner of the classroom, where Ron, Hermione, Neville and him had found a spot to practice some defense spells against one another. Neville swished his wand expertly, knocking Ron off of his feet. With a loud curse, Ron tumbled to the ground. Harry covered his yawn up with a laugh, making his way over and hauling him up by the hand. 

“Bloody Neville.” Ron grumbled and Harry snorted. 

“Oh come on mate.” 

Hermione stepped up to Neville’s position and held up her wand, a grin on her face that Harry knew all too well. Hermione was a most capable witch, with both books and practical spells, but she had never been able to beat Harry at Defense Against the Dark Arts, to all of their surprises. That didn’t stop her, however, from trying again every single class. 

“I’ll go easy on you, Hermione.” Harry joked, making Hermione roll her eyes with a short laugh, as well. Before either of them could get in the right position, Harry yawned again. Instantly, Hermione lowered her wand and Harry cursed himself to Hogsmeade and back.  _ Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck.  _

“Harry? Are you alright?” 

“I’m fi--” 

“Mr. Potter, Miss Granger is right. Perhaps it is best to go and visit Madame Pomfrey. You do look rather pale, my boy.” Harry turned to look at Professor Gildewitch, their new DADA Professor, and shook his head. 

“No need, Professor.” 

“I insist, Mr. Potter. Go see Madame Pomfrey.” 

The man’s voice left no room for argument. Harry turned to look at his friends, who all seemed quite worried as well, and he instantly dreaded the moment all of them would return from classes after the day was over because Hermione was definitely already planning an intervention. 

Harry shrugged, however, and tucked away his wand. “Do you want me to go with you, mate?” 

Harry waved Ron off, “No need, Ron. You keep practicing.” 

Ron rolled his eyes, a move he had clearly learned from his girlfriend, and gave him a lopsided grin. “You be careful, alright?” 

Harry nodded, his eyes scanning the room. He found Malfoy already staring at him, worry evident on his face as well, and he shrugged. He hoped that Malfoy wouldn’t worry too much. It was just a lack of sleep, Harry knew. The nightmares kept coming and Malfoy kept following him, comforting him after the initial panic and shock had faded. 

Some nights, Malfoy didn’t wake up when Harry did. And Harry was partially grateful for that. Malfoy needed his rest and Harry didn’t want him to suffer because of something stupid as Harry’s nightmares. But he missed him on those nights, when Harry had to spend them alone in the dark. 

Harry turned to walk out of the classroom, hoisting his bag up around his shoulder. He could feel eyes on him and Harry wanted to groan. No one was allowed to leave class for something as futile as lack of sleep, but because he was  _ Harry Potter _ , Professors tended to go easy on him. Harry hated it. 

But he listened. He walked out and to the infirmary, where Madame Pomfrey led him to a bed and told him to go to sleep. Harry wanted to protest; he had more classes to attend to, notes to write and when his friends realized that he wasn’t coming back for the day, they would worry till they could go see him. Harry groaned. 

“Please Madame Pomfrey! I feel okay.” 

She didn’t budge, pointing at an empty bed with her wand. “You need sleep, Mr. Potter. Your beautifying charms may fool your friends, but your exhaustion is not healthy.” 

With great reluctance, Harry walked up to the bed and dropped his bag on one of the stools next to it. He grumbled out a ‘fine’, because he knew that Madame Pomfrey was doing this to take care of him and not piss him off, and watched the woman leave. He tugged the curtains closed and changed into the infirmary clothes, loose bottoms and a white shirt, and lay in bed, wand in hand. 

It took a couple minutes of staring at the ceiling but Harry could feel the exhaustion Madame Pomfrey had mentioned making his bones feel heavier and his head pound ever so slightly. Harry sighed, relaxing his shoulders and giving in to his need for sleep. 

△⃒⃘

Draco couldn’t shake the pressure that resided on his chest for the rest of the day. He looked for Potter in every class they had but came up empty handed every single time. It seemed that Madame Pomfrey had kept Potter in the infirmary, a wise decision where Draco was concerned, but he couldn’t help but worry. 

Their nightly excursions were maybe three, sometimes four times a week. Potter seemed to sleep rather normally on the nights where Draco wasn’t woken up by Potter’s trunk closing, or so Draco had thought. He had never considered the possibility that Potter had more horrible nightmares that carried him out of bed, by which Draco wasn’t woken up. 

It was exactly that that carried him toward Granger and Weasley at the end of their Charms class, where he tapped Granger on the shoulder very discreetly and hoped she would notice. Pansy had recommended the quiet approach instead of rushing to them the  _ second  _ Potter had walked out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class like Draco had initially wanted to do, throwing all caution and their past into the wind because for  _ Merlin’s  _ sake Potter was in danger!

Well, not in danger, but Draco could see Potter grow more tired with each passing day and  _ fuck  _ did it hurt to see him like that. 

“Malfoy?” Weasley was the first who noticed him, his voice kind with a certain edge to it. Draco shoved it away, belatedly realizing that touching his girlfriend out of the blue was probably  _ not  _ the right thing to do. 

“Draco?” Draco blanched for a second because since  _ when  _ were Granger and him on a first name basis? When had that happened? Weasley seemed just as confused, his eyebrows raised as he looked at Granger with it clear on his face. 

She didn’t seem to notice the strange looks either of them were giving her, instead focusing her attention on Draco and completely ignoring her boyfriend. 

“I may--I honestly don’t know if Potter even wants me to tell you two this-- but I may know why Potter hasn’t been himself lately.” 

That had  _ not  _ been the right way to word it, clearly, because within a second Draco was pushed up against the wall, Weasley holding him up by his collar and a wand pointed at his chin. Terror rushed through his body like a Snitch across the pitch and Draco whimpered. 

“Ronald!”

“What did you do to Harry, Malfoy?!” Ron belted, his face red with anger. Draco felt irritation bubble in his chest at Weasley’s brute grip. Had his family not taught him  _ any  _ manners? He was pureblood, right? 

Draco mentally smacked himself across the face. The Weasleys were a perfectly respectable family, especially after the War, and his Father had been the one to downplay whatever Arthur Weasley did. This, however, was painful. 

“Nothing! Merlin’s sake, Weasley!” Draco replied, voice high with anxiety. Weasley didn’t lower his wand until Granger--Hermione?-- rushed up to the both of them and put a hand on Weasley’s arm. 

“Ronald, let him go. We talked about this.” 

It took every inch of Draco’s newfound self-control not to call Weasley Granger’s lapdog, but he reckoned that would get him in a situation  _ much  _ worse than this and while this was all happening, bloody Potter was still in the infirmary. 

“Fine.” Weasley grumbled, lowering his hand and putting Draco back down on the ground. Draco sighed with relief, reaching up to straighten his collar and tie as a reflex. 

“What is it you know about Harry, Draco?” 

“Why are you calling him Draco?!” Weasley exclaimed. Granger fully ignored him, to Draco’s tiny bit of pleasure, and kept her gaze on Draco. While Draco was wondering the same thing, there were more pressing things at hand. 

Draco swallowed, “He hasn’t been sleeping well.” 

Weasley rolled his eyes, “We know that one, Malfoy. Anything else?” 

Draco so badly wanted to punch Weasley, although it was awfully  _ muggle  _ of him, but he refrained from doing so. He would receive a letter from Mother how she was disappointed he had gotten himself detention, how he had punched someone he promised himself he wouldn’t anger anymore  _ and  _ if Potter had wanted to give him a chance Draco wouldn’t gain any points in his favor by punching the git’s best friend. 

“Potter and I have been sneaking out at night.” 

At this one, both Granger and Weasley’s eyebrows jumped up, nearly touching their hairline. “How did that happen?” 

Draco ducked his head, suddenly feeling like a ten year old again when he had seen a cute boy in the village close to the Manor and was trying to hide his blush from said cute boy. “It started a couple weeks ago, when I woke to Potter sneaking out. I followed after him because--” 

Draco still didn’t have a proper reason for that. For why he had followed Potter, his ex-nemesis, into the dark of the night and into the Forest. 

“Because?!” Weasley seemed rather impatient and Draco shook himself back to earth. 

“Because  _ nobody  _ should roam the grounds alone at night. I found him in the Forest--”

“Oh bloody hell.” That halted Draco, for he had never heard Granger coming near any sort of curse word. Ever. At least since she had socked him in the face in their third year.

“And I waited for him to gather himself, until he calmed down. We walked back to the Castle and I made sure he got into his bed safely. Since then, we have ventured out together whenever Potter’s nightmares get too much.” Draco finished, shutting his mouth and clenching his jaw. 

That was as much as he could tell Granger and Weasley, the guilt of already having betrayed Potter’s trust--did Potter trust him? Surely he did, after what happened two nights ago-- eating away at him. 

Granger and Weasley, who looked by lack of a better word, shell shocked. “We knew about how you went to Hagrid with him, but  _ this _ . I can’t believe it, Mione.” 

Granger nodded, her mind clearly somewhere else. The corridor they were in was completely deserted now, everyone eager to end the day, and Draco could tell Granger wasn’t counting the stones that made up the floor they were standing on. 

Draco flushed at the mention of Hagrid and how Potter had followed him. Potter had talked about that? 

“ _ God, _ ” Draco had absolutely  _ no  _ idea who that was, “It makes so much sense now.” 

This time it was Draco’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Pardon?” 

Granger shook her head and then it seemed to hit Weasley, too. “Merlin’s balls.” 

Granger was quick to smack Weasley’s shoulder before turning back to a very confused Draco. Fuck Pansy and her plans to paint her nails with Hannah, of all people. 

“We should go to the infirmary.” Granger said and turned around without another word. Weasley followed on natural instinct but Draco stayed still. He supposed he could go back to the Common Room, maybe ask Pansy if she could paint his nails black for the grave Potter was sure going to dig him, and his shoulders slumped. Draco hadn’t allowed himself to hope and wish for much, but a teeny portion of him had hoped that perhaps, Granger would let him come with. She had been nice to him, after all. And now even called him Draco. 

Draco was about to turn around and head the other way when he felt someone grab his wrist. When he turned his head to look who it was, he was shocked to see that it was Weasley. He looked quite reluctant to do so, but this was a bigger moment than the both of them probably realized. 

“You coming?” 

Harry woke up to voices around him, distant and quiet but most definitely there. He kept his eyes close for a little bit longer, sleepily preparing himself for the onslaught that was about to come down on him from Hermione. He could hear Ron and her whispering from his left, but a warm presence was on his right. Harry refrained from frowning, as to not give himself away just yet, but he wondered who that was. If it was Madame Pomfrey it was the quietest she had ever been around him. 

“I cannot believe he’s been sneaking out again.” 

Harry didn’t move but he sighed deeply internally. Of course Hermione would find out, one way or the other. Harry wasn’t sure  _ how  _ she did it, but this was Hermione. The girl who, in their first year, solved a riddle about  _ bloody  _ potions to get Harry through a fire and was right about it. 

As Harry waited for her to continue, Ron spoke up. “What I cannot believe is that it’s with  _ him  _ of all people.” 

“Ronald! Why can’t you be nice to--”

“Because Malfoy is anything but nice, Hermione!”

“Ronald!” She yelled loudly. 

How did they know Malfoy was with him for most nights? Had Ron heard them? 

“Granger, it’s alright. Weasley has every right to despise me.” Butterflies erupted within Harry’s stomach, Malfoy’s voice ringing in his ears. What was he doing here? With Harry’s friends? 

_ Wait _ , had Malfoy told them? 

“Draco! Stop that. You don’t deserve such treat--”

“Hermione!”

“Ronald! It’s time you get over that horrible and childish  _ feud  _ of yours! Draco didn’t have a choice and he truly regrets everything he has done to aid Voldemort!” Hermione sounded absolutely exasperated and Harry wondered if he should show that he was actually awake but withheld from showing any signs, instead waiting and listening to what Malfoy was going to say. Or Draco, in Hermione’s words. Since when were they on a first name basis?

“ _ Childish?  _ Hermione, this arsehole called you a mudblood multiple times, welcomed Death-Eaters into the bloody castle and to top it all off, he’s an arrogant git.” 

“I am sitting right here, Weasley.” Malfoy took a deep breath and Harry could hear his robes rustling as he moved around. He was nervous, Harry noted. “And I deeply apologize for saying those horrible words to you, Granger. I was prejudiced and--although it pains me to say this--you are a brilliant witch of your kind.” 

The air around Harry grew silent, the only thing audible being their breaths mingling together until Ron let out a huff. Hermione sighed as well and Harry could feel a hand squeezing his arm. “Thank you, Draco. I appreciate your apology and I’m certain that as time passes, Ron will too.” 

Harry almost laughed at the exasperated sigh that Ron let out. “Look, Malfoy,” Harry tensed, “I don’t have a clue what it is you and Harry are doing, but if Harry of all people sees good in you, I will accept it and go with it.” 

Harry’s heart warmed at his best friend’s words. He truly couldn’t have gotten a best mate better than Ron Weasley. 

Malfoy cleared his throat, most likely uncomfortable with the sudden show of semi-support. Malfoy wasn’t good with that anymore. As much as he had enjoyed the praise when he was younger and different, Malfoy had told Harry on one of their nightly outings that Malfoy no longer felt good about himself while receiving compliments. It was a shame, really, because Malfoy deserved several compliments, hundreds of them. Before Harry found himself drowning in the fantasies he came up with every time Malfoy was involved, he groaned to announce his conscious state. 

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed. She was by his side in a second and Harry opened his eyes. He had to blink a few times, the daylight hitting his eyes a little too harshly, but he grinned at her. 

“Morning, mate.” Ron said, making Harry look at him and smile. For a split second Harry was actually worried he had slept through the day and night but he could see that Hermione was still wearing the same necklace as during their class, so he deemed it the same day. 

Then Harry turned his head to look at the other side of the bed, meeting eyes with Malfoy. He looked slightly worried, in the way that it looked passive to those who didn’t know what some of Malfoy’s facial expressions meant. Harry knew he had worried Malfoy and a ‘pang’ of guilt ripped through his chest. 

He smiled at Malfoy, though, getting a small smile in return. 

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Hermione asked, gathering Harry’s attention back to her. Harry could see Ron looking at him with his eyes wider than usual before they flicked toward Malfoy. Harry knew Ron had questions. But if Ron came knocking, demanding answers, Harry wasn’t sure if he could give them. 

“I’m fine, Hermione. Just needed a bit of sleep, s’all.” 

She raised her eyebrows before turning her eyes to look at Malfoy, who had been eerily quiet. “Draco told us that you’re sneaking out again.” 

Harry groaned, clenching his eyes shut. He knew it. “It’s nothing, Hermione. Promise.” 

“Mate, why didn’t you come to us?” Harry opened his eyes to look at Ron. He looked worried and Harry knew Ron through and through to the point that he knew that Ron was feeling guilty. And that in return made Harry feel guilty. 

“You know you can talk to us about anything, right Harry?” Hermione’s voice was that sweet, motherly voice she put on when worried and already thinking of solutions and while it made Harry feel warm inside, he also wanted her to quit it. She didn’t have to worry. None of them had to worry. 

“Thanks, I know.” He mumbled, eyes on the white duvet he lay under. Malfoy was quiet at his other side and Harry bit his lip. He could see Malfoy’s hands on his lap in his peripheral vision and a  _ very  _ determined side of Harry wanted to take one of his hands and intertwine their fingers. Guilt was practically radiating off of Malfoy and Harry wanted to assure him that it was okay. That he didn’t mind that Malfoy had shared their nightly adventures with his friends. 

To his own great surprise, Harry found. He thought he was going to be angry at Malfoy, for breaking his trust and for telling Hermione and Ron when the two of them had other things to worry about, more important things, but it showed a great amount of care and  _ courage _ . Malfoy had talked about how Hermione and Ron probably hated him and Harry wasn’t entirely sure whether Ron still did, and for Malfoy to still go up to them and speak to them all because Harry wasn’t doing well showed so much care it threatened to overwhelm Harry. 

△⃒⃘

Draco wasn’t sure what to do. After Madame Pomfrey released Potter from the infirmary, after Granger had scolded Potter for not telling her what was going on and demanding Madame Pomfrey give him a Dreamless Sleep potion for at least two nights, they had all walked down to the Great Hall.

Which, in Draco’s opinion, must have looked like a strange sight. The Golden Trio, closely followed by Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater. And Draco wasn’t sure what to do now because Potter had pulled Draco over to the side right before they were to enter the Great Hall for dinner, leaving Granger and Weasley to walk to the Gryffindor table without Potter. 

And Draco felt the guilt creeping back up his throat as he looked at Potter, biting his lip and seemingly thinking about what to say. No one else was around them, everyone sat at their tables awaiting dinner. Draco was about to open his mouth and ask what was going on when Potter opened his mouth.

“Thank you, for telling them.” 

Now that was unexpected. Draco had expected Potter to scream and yell, call him names and maybe even hex him into his very own infirmary bed, but this was a pleasant surprise. Granger and Weasley had looked incredibly worried all through the talk they had when Potter was still in the hospital bed, Draco keeping quiet and constantly feeling like he was intruding in a very special moment. 

Instead of saying those feelings out loud, Draco shrugged. “Are you going to take the Dreamless Sleep?” 

Draco wasn’t sure where that question came from. He knew that Dreamless Sleep was addictive to those who used it on a regular basis and he also knew that the withdrawal from it was even worse. Draco knew that Granger was aware of the side effects the potion came with, but she was right to demand it for Potter. Maybe after two nights of calm, uninterrupted sleep he would feel a lot better. 

He also knew that if Potter were to take the potions, Draco would miss their nightly adventures greatly. 

Potter shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “Ron has some positive experience with it. He took it a few times after the War and Hermione did too. So perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to try.” 

Draco raised his eyebrows. Granger  _ and  _ Weasley had both taken such a powerful potion? Granted, the two of them had probably been through enough to have their own traumas and nightmares, but Draco had never stopped to think about it. Weasley always seemed to sleep just fine and Granger didn’t look all too tired, either. 

“Don’t take it too many times, though.” Draco said, eyes trained on the way Potter’s tie wasn’t properly tied up. The knot was haphazardly done and on instinct, Draco reached out to correct it. 

The startled gasp Potter released made Draco stop dead in his tracks. When Potter didn’t push him away, though, Draco tugged on the tie until it was neat again. He could feel his face flushing with a blush and when he looked up to look Potter in the eye, Draco could see the slightest hint of a blush on Potter’s tan skin as well. 

“I won’t.” Potter answered, taking a tiny step back just as Draco finished his tie. They stood there, quietly staring at each other and for a second Draco thought Potter was leaning in when Potter cleared his throat and scratched his neck again. 

“Er, I guess I’ll go to dinner.” 

Draco refused to think about what the sinking of his heart meant. He nodded and followed two steps behind Potter. Surely The Saviour wouldn’t want to be seen walking into the Great Hall with him?

He watched as Potter made his way to the Gryffindor table and something inside Draco stirred. He wanted to follow Potter and sit next to him, laugh with his  _ stupid  _ friends and hold his hand as they ate dinner. Draco wanted so much he couldn’t have, so many things he didn’t deserve, and falling in love with Harry Potter and wishing for them to have a future together was probably the worst of them all. 

Without a word Draco walked over to where Pansy was already seated at the Slytherin table and took a seat next to her, his back turned to Potter. Before she could say anything, Draco leant over to place his head on her shoulder and sighed, deeply. 

“Are you alright, Draco?” Draco couldn’t handle the worry in her voice and why in  _ Salazar _ ’s name could he feel tears starting to brim his eyes? He shook his head, not wanting to talk about it in the Great Hall for someone might overhear and Pansy’s hand tangled into Draco’s hair almost instantly, a reassuring pat that they could always talk later. 

△⃒⃘

Harry knew he had no right to, but he missed Malfoy and their night escapades. Harry had dutifully taken the potions Madame Pomfrey had given him under the watchful eye of Ron, courtesy of Hermione, so for the past two nights Harry hadn’t experienced a single nightmare. Which, in itself, was nothing to complain about, truthfully. But, despite this, Harry found himself missing his Malfoy quality time. 

He had really gotten to know the different sides of Malfoy, the ones that could make anyone like him within the blink of an eye. He was smart, witty and albeit sometimes a bit too snappy, he stood his ground. He had learnt to defend himself properly and had changed his views from what he used to believe when he was younger. Harry had listened to Malfoy explaining how that had happened and to say Harry was proud was an understatement. He had always hoped for Malfoy to stop living underneath Lucius Malfoy’s shadow, ever since he had met the man in his second year at Hogwarts. 

In the beginning, when Harry had first heard that Malfoy would be attending Hogwarts for his eight-year as well, Harry had wanted to hate him. Had wanted to return to their fighting, snarky comments and hurtful words. But, when he saw Malfoy board the train when Malfoy wasn’t looking, he could see something had changed. 

He was apprehensive at first, but Hermione had scolded Ron and him for it on their second night back, when Ron had made a comment about Pansy Parkinson--”I will never understand how she was allowed back in the school! The bloody traitor”-- and Hermione had whacked him with a book. 

Hermione, of all people, seemed eager to leave everything behind. He knew that Ron was apprehensive as well, the loss of his brother weighing heavy on him, but if Harry did decide to become friends with Malfoy and hang out more, he hoped that Ron could at least respect his decision. Much like Ron had respected Harry’s decision of breaking up with Ginny for good. 

Harry wasn’t even sure whether Malfoy would be okay with spending time together during the day instead of in the shadows of the night. Harry wouldn’t mind, that’s for certain, but perhaps Malfoy was ashamed? He only touched Harry when they were alone, like the ‘tie-incident’ two days ago. 

Harry shook his head, willing those thoughts away and forcing himself to get back into the game of Wizarding Chess he was playing with Ron. He was losing, of course, but it was a nice distraction. Harry was grateful for the two uninterrupted nights of sleep, for tonight was Halloween and Harry had plans to visit his parents. 

The whole castle was decorated to accommodate the holiday and it looked beautiful. But, Halloween, despite the fun and numerous sweets Harry enjoyed, came with such a heavy and dark fact it made it hard for Harry to enjoy. Especially after the War, Harry found. And he had a theory as to why that was. He had seen his parents, spoken to them, before he died. Harry supposed that’s why it hurt more than it did before. 

Other students could sense it. Harry was grateful for the fact that his admirers seemed to have taken the day off, although he did feel the tiniest bit guilty, and everyone let Harry be. 

Although Hermione still fussed, Ron, Neville and even Ernie and Hannah tried their best to distract Harry before the Halloween Feast, which Harry wouldn’t be attending. Instead, he had gone down to the kitchens in the early morning before classes, and arranged a picnic basket so he could eat with his parents. 

Just as Ron hit Harry’s queen to smithereens, Malfoy and Pansy took up the couch in front of the fireplace. 

“--write your Mother, dear.” Harry felt something ugly rise in his chest at the nickname that Pansy had for Malfoy. Were they together after all? Had Harry been reading Malfoy all wrong? It wouldn’t be the first time, Harry supposed. 

Malfoy’s answer was too soft for Harry to be able to pick up on, so he was left staring at the chessboard and thinking about why Malfoy would need to send his mother a letter, pondering his next move as his knight kept hitting the board with his hooves, impatient. Harry huffed, ordering the stupid knight to a spot where he knew Ron would hit it with his own queen. Ron chuckled and shook his head.

“Mate, you’ve gotten worse.” As Harry had predicted, Ron took out his knight and smashed it to bits. While Harry tried to reason with himself that Malfoy could write his mother about whatever he bloody well pleased, he sent one of his pawns after Ron’s queen. Except, the pawn was now in the perfect position for Ron’s rook to hit it. 

“Oh for  _ Godric _ ’s sake.” Harry complained, watching as his pawn got smashed as well. 

“You want to call it quits?” Ron asked, seemingly more concerned with Harry than the game now that Harry only had his king, two pawns and a rook left. 

“The Feast starts in less than ten minutes, I don’t think you have a choice.” Harry started as Hermione’s voice came out of nowhere, her hand coming down on his shoulder. 

“What’d you mean?” Ron asked, frowning. “Ten minutes is more than en--” 

“Ron.” She hissed and Harry felt her squeeze his shoulder. Ron’s eyes widened and nodded then, standing up. He whipped his wand and the chess pieces assembled themselves back together, walking to their starting positions before freezing again. 

“Oi!” Harry exclaimed, “I was winning that one!”

Harry laughed as Ron did, too, the atmosphere a little lighter. Even Hermione released a small chuckle. Harry rose to his feet and his friends followed him as he walked back to the men’s dormitory, retrieving the basket before going back down again and hugging Hermione. 

“Be careful, okay?” She asked, squeezing Harry tightly. He felt his heart clench. She was so worried for him, despite her own traumas of the War, she always worried more for him than she did for herself. Merlin, Harry didn’t deserve Hermione. Nor did he deserve Ron. 

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come?” Ron asked, tugging Harry in a hug just as Hermione had let go of him. Harry nodded into Ron’s shoulder. 

“Positive. You enjoy your meal. I need to do this alone.” Neither of them seemed fully convinced but they nodded. Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand once more before they walked him to the portrait and down to the grounds in silence. 

Harry waved at Ron and Hermione as they walked back inside, the pumpkins around them lighting up with pink and red colours and Harry smiled. Ron had taken Hermione on a date to Hogsmeade about two weeks ago, just to have some quality time together, and while he knew that the other Gryffindors would be sitting at the same table Harry was glad they would get the chance to be just the two of them. 

He shook the negative thoughts that came with such moments away, not accepting the meaner parts of himself that said that now that Ron and Hermione were together, they would forget all about Harry. Sure, they would move in together after Hogwarts, find a home and jobs and most likely have children quite quickly if Ron had anything to say about it, but Harry knew that he would fit into that scenario somewhere, despite the darker parts of him telling him that he would rot away, alone and broken, in Grimmauld Place. 

Harry took off, walking all the way to the edge of Hogwarts’ grounds. The second he felt the wards slipping off of his shoulders, Harry turned on the spot and Apparted, the sensation nauseating at best. 

They had all gotten their licenses during the Summer, on Molly’s demand, and Harry could not be more grateful for magic than he was at that moment. His parents were just a quick Apparation away and it was something quite useful for in the future, too. Although, Harry did have to get used to the nausea that came with it. And his landing. As he appeared on the outskirts of the little village, Harry stumbled forward, his stomach lurching before he stopped and stood bent over. 

The village was quiet and dark, Autumn leaves covering the sidewalks and streets as Harry walked through and found his way to the cemetery. As Harry passed the pub he was greeted with loud cheers and hollers, the people of the village drinking and laughing as if nothing could touch them. Despite everything, it warmed Harry’s heart. This is what he fought for, for wizards and witches all over Britain to live in peace once more, for them to be able to enjoy their lives as much as possible without any threats. 

On the town’s square Harry walked up to the statue of an obelisk and watched it morph into his Mother and Father, his smaller self nestled in between them with a grin. The first few tears found their way down Harry’s cheek and he sighed shakily, turning on the spot and making his way to the cemetery. 

There wasn’t any snow, not like the last time Harry had visited, and this time he was alone as he walked to the gravestone under which his parents had found their last resting place. It hurt, it hurt so greatly that for a second Harry wanted to Apparate on the spot and leave. Instead, he kneeled at the gravestone and refreshed the flowers that were on the ground, preserving them with a charm before settling down with the basket. 

“Hi mom, dad.” 

△⃒⃘

Draco had known something was up with Potter the second Granger and Weasley had walked him to the portrait and were gone. He couldn’t focus back on the conversation he was having with Pansy about writing his Mother, which he was already planning on doing, thank Pansy  _ very  _ much, and even as they descended the moving stairs and walked into the Great Hall with all sorts of scary decorations and delicious smelling foods Draco couldn’t stop thinking about Potter.

It got worse when, after five minutes of the doors being closed and McGonagall’s speech, Potter was still nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t at the Gryffindor table, munching away on the delicious foods that the house elves had made, and it worried Draco. Where had he gone? Was Potter in the infirmary again? Had he gotten himself in trouble? 

Was he okay? 

“Do you know where Potter is?” Draco knew he had interrupted Pansy’s sentence but he couldn’t be arsed, eyes still trained on the Gryffindor table and the way Granger and Weasley seemed completely unbothered. Their best friend was  _ missing _ , for Merlin’s sake! How could they be laughing? This was a serious matter! McGonagall should be involved in this, shouldn’t she be? Why were no Professors looking for him? He was Harry  _ sodding  _ Potter! The Boy Who Lived! Why did no o--

“I wouldn’t know.” Pansy shrugged, “Perhaps he was just tired.” 

“It’s odd.” 

“You know what’s odd, Draco? The fact that you two haven’t snogged yet.” Pansy poked at Draco’s hand with a fork, making him yelp. 

“Shut it! People could hear you!” 

Pansy shrugged again, tilting her head. Her hair was getting longer again, it reaching her shoulder, and Draco thought she looked quite nice. “So? What would that matter?”

“Quite a lot!” Draco retorted. He uncharacteristically stuffed some baked pumpkin in his mouth just as he realised that he hadn’t denied Pansy’s claim of wanting to snog Potter. “Besides! I don’t want to  _ snog  _ Potter!” 

Pansy arched one perfectly styled eyebrow. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. And, of course you don’t, dear. You only want to hold his hand, cuddle with him when he suffers from his nightmares and take him out to that new restaurant your mother wrote you about last week.” 

Draco huffed, throwing his fork onto his plate. Fuck. fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck. Pansy was right and Draco knew it. He was completely and utterly whipped for Harry fucking Potter and there was  _ nothing  _ he could do about it anymore. 

“And honestly Draco?” Pansy’s voice went sugary sweet again and Draco closed his eyes and swallowed. Pansy only sounded like that when she tried to convince someone of something and Draco wasn’t ready for what she was going to say. “It’s okay.”

Draco let his eyes fly open in shock. “What do you mean, it’s okay? It’s not bloody okay and you know it!” 

Pansy waved him off. “It’s more than okay, Draco. You’ve been crushing on Potter for how long now? Sixth year? Maybe even earlier than that? You wouldn’t stop talking about him during fourth year and even made those  _ stupid  _ buttons to catch his attention! You climbed a bloody tree to look cool while insulting him! I think loads of people around here will be relieved when you two finally get your act together.” 

Draco fell quiet, staring at his best friend with so many emotions he couldn’t begin to name them all. There was gratitude and relief for the fact that despite everything, Pansy completely supported Draco’s utterly ridiculous crush on Potter. Anger for the fact that Pansy never told Draco that she had figured everything out so early on and sadness for the fact that despite Pansy’s support, it was never going to happen in his wildest dreams. 

“Thank you, dear.” Draco couldn’t find other words, not at this moment, but Pansy seemed more than satisfied. She patted Draco’s hand, taking the last bite of her beef before her plate disappeared. Draco eyed the Gryffindor table over her shoulder, finding that Potter still wasn’t there and it bothered him greatly. 

“For  _ Salazar’s _ sake Draco, ask them! You talked to them earlier this week, too.” Pansy pointed out. The table emptied itself, the food disappearing and with it, Draco’s half empty plate. Draco couldn’t find it in himself to care, he hadn’t been all that hungry anyway. He eyed Pansy with a frown. 

“And ask them what? Hello, good evening, do you perhaps know where your best friend has gone? I’m deeply concerned about his whereabouts and oh, by the way, how is that life long grudge against me going?!” Draco hissed. Had Pansy honestly lost her mind? 

“Didn’t you say Weasley apologized to you?” 

Draco snorted, shaking his head. “No, Pansy, he didn’t apologize. He listened to his girlfriend.” 

“But he said he trusts Potter’s judgement, didn’t he?” 

Draco sighed. If it weren’t for the fact that the desserts could appear any minute now, he would have dropped his head on the table; reputation be damned. He didn’t want ice-cream in his hair or chocolate on his nose so Draco made his head stay upright. Instead, he glared at Pansy. 

“Well, Potter’s judgement is extremely flawed. I thought we established this years ago.” There was a glint in Pansy’s eyes, perhaps something akin to entertainment, and Draco wasn’t sure what to think of the smile she sent his way. 

“We did, but that was the time when you still called him a git.” 

Draco rolled his eyes, defeated by his best friend. Dessert appeared and distracted her for a few seconds as she grabbed a waffle for herself and a bit of syrup. Draco put some pudding on his plate and Treacle tart before turning back to Pansy. The students around them were getting louder as the minutes went on, Pansy telling a story about how Granger, Abbott and her had played a game of exploding snap in the dormitory the night before, but Draco couldn’t entirely focus on her, eyes on the Gryffindor table once more. 

“Okay Draco, that’s the last straw. I’m going to ask them.” Before Draco could even  _ blink _ Pansy was off of the bench and walking to the Gryffindor table. For a few seconds, Draco was completely frozen to his spot. When Pansy had made her way over to where Granger, Weasley, Longbottom and the female Weasley were sitting Draco moved, startling the seventh years that were next to him. 

Without much thought, Draco made his way over to Pansy. 

“--he is?” 

Draco could see that Pansy had chosen Granger to talk to, Weasley sat next to her with a slightly sour expression which soured even more when he noticed Draco was there, too. Granger seemed to notice though, turning her head with a stern expression aimed at her boyfriend. 

“Harry has--er--has gone to visit his parents.” 

“Oh.” Was Draco’s incredibly intelligent response. He was reminded of Potter’s sobs as he told Draco about his mother, how he had heard her screams to keep Potter alive when the dementor had entered the Hogwarts Express for the first time. How Draco, completely despite himself with guilt for pestering Potter about it for the entirety of said year, had apologized and apologized and how Potter had shrugged it off like it had been  _ nothing _ . 

Potter had once told him, after a specifically grueling nightmare, that he wished he could have had his father, to write to when he was at school, to talk to about the dumb things teenagers experienced and that all he had wanted was a normal life. With a family. Without the titles and Orders of Merlin, paparazzi and admirers following him every step he took. 

Draco used to think that Potter loved the attention. That he was such an arrogant prick that he relished in the compliments, the front pages in the Prophet all about him and that he enjoyed having girls and boys alike chasing him. But he had been so, so wrong. Potter would trade everything he had right now if it would give him his parents back, no matter the cost. 

And that meant spending Halloween, a night where teenagers their age were supposed to get drunk off of some rubbish Firewhiskey and party way into the night, at his parents’ grave. 

_ Salazar _ . Draco felt a rush of empathy and sadness for Harry curl in his chest, accompanying the previous feeling of guilt that he had before. 

“He’s alone?” Draco hated the waver in his voice but the thought of Potter, sitting there in front of a bloody gravestone, crying and wishing his parents would come back all alone in the  _ fucking  _ dark. 

Granger nodded, “He didn’t want us to come with.” 

“So you just  _ let  _ him go all alone?!” Draco screeched, wincing at himself. Weasley raised eyebrows. 

“Excuse me Malfoy? He’s an adult. He didn’t want us there, so we didn’t go. Bloody idiot.” 

Draco was just about ready to grab his wand and jinx Weasley into next week. His best friend was  _ hurting  _ and he didn’t even follow him to the damn graveyard? No one joined him? Potter was truly alone? 

Draco was suddenly hit with the confession Potter had made weeks ago. Where, sometimes in his darkest moments, he wished that he hadn’t gone back after the Dark Lord had killed him the second time. Where he wished to join everyone he has ever loved. 

“Draco, why are you so worried about him?” Granger asked, earning himself an elbow in the ribs as he merely shrugged. None of his behaviour up till now was justified by a simple shrug and Draco knew he looked like a bloody idiot but  _ dammit  _ he fucking liked Potter, maybe even loved him already, and he was  _ alone _ . 

“Potter and I have become sort of friends, although I suppose you may have guessed that already.” Draco confessed instead, knowing full well that Pansy would have his head if he didn’t. 

Weasley scoffed, “Doesn’t sound like just ‘friendship’ to me, you wanker.” 

“Ronald!” 

“What?! Harry doesn’t want to see anyone. Not now.” Weasley sounded resolute, protective over his best friend and Draco felt dread crawl up his throat. Draco turned to Granger, his one last bit of hope in this situation before he would go absolutely  _ mad _ . 

“Malfoy, wait for Harry to come back. Then you can talk to him. You have no way to get to him.” Pansy’s voice of reason came and Granger nodded along with her within a split second. 

Dessert disappeared from the table, shocking everyone out of their weird reverie. Students were getting up and walking out of the Great Hall in a flurry of yellow, blue, green and red as Draco stood there with the exact group of people his twelve year old self hated greatly. It hit him hard and for a second Draco wanted to run and make them forget everything that had just happened. Malfoys didn't lose control like that. They kept calm, never showing expressions other than uninterested. Then again, Draco supposed, he hadn’t been a proper Malfoy in a long, long time. 

△⃒⃘

The common room was quiet save for the crackling of the fire, the only light within the room coming from a few lanterns along the walls. It was pitch black outside, pouring down rain against the windows. Draco sat on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket his mother had sent him two days ago. She had bought it in a muggle store, explaining that it was too soft to leave it there, and Draco had almost  _ cried  _ at reading his mother’s enthusiasm over something so small but so big for her. She also wrote about Teddy, Draco’s cousin, and how sweet of a boy he was. Aunt Andromeda had been more than welcoming and it warmed Draco’s heart. 

Potter still hadn’t gotten back. Draco tried to convince himself that the reason he was out here, alone in the common room, was because he wanted to write to his mother. Not because he was waiting for Potter to return, anxious and jittery because it was storming outside and if Draco had gotten to know Potter even just a little bit he knew that Potter didn’t dress appropriately, even when it was freezing out. 

Draco turned back to his piece of parchment, dipping his quill in the ink. Draco supposed he could always actually write to his mother instead of waiting without lifting a finger. 

_ Dearest Mother, _

_ I am very grateful for your gift. The blanket is truly the softest and to think that Muggles were able to craft it is rather odd. I am using it as we speak, Mother. The green is very fitting, too.  _

_ I sure hope you are enjoying the time you have now. It warms my heart to know you are out there and trying things Father never allowed you to do. Or your family, for that matter.  _

_ I have a confession to make, Mother. I may have become very fond of a very particular person, and I have lost all control over myself. It’s a rather odd sensation. If you have advice to spare I will wait eagerly for it. I will tell you who it is some day, I am certain, but not today. I am deeply sorry, mother.  _

_ For what it’s worth, I am sure you will like them. I doubt things will work out between us, to my deepest worry, but one can hope. Especially after everything we have experienced.  _

_ I love you dearly, and I can not wait to spend the Christmas holidays with you, mother.  _

_ Forever Yours, _

_ Draco Black.  _

Draco stared at the foreign last name. He had mulled it over a handful of times, doubting whether he really wanted to abandon the Malfoy family and let it die with his Father. Abandoning the Malfoy name would mean that it wouldn’t live on, and Draco found himself rather satisfied. The Malfoy family had always been cursed, doomed to become evil. His great-great-great grandma had been the only person in the Malfoy family who had been half decent. She had spent her life acquiring and collecting old antiques, presenting them at parties and Draco was sure that the Manor had been cheerful around her. 

Her daughter turned on her, however, cursing the antiques and effectively continuing the negative streak the Malfoys had been on for centuries. Draco didn’t want to be a part of that. Not anymore. 

He folded the parchment, sealed the envelope and tucked it into the pocket of his robes. Draco would go down to the owlery tomorrow morning, before heading to the library to get some homework done. At least, that was the plan. Draco wasn’t sure if he felt like doing homework all that much. 

Just as he turned back to the fire and cast a small Incendio, Draco heard the portrait open and close. Within a second he was on his feet, turning his head around only to be met with Potter standing a few feet away from him, eyes filled with questions Draco wasn’t sure how to answer. 

“Potter.” 

Merlin’s beard, Draco really lost his intelligence the  _ second _ Potter was concerned, didn’t he?

Potter frowned at him. “Malfoy, what are you doing awake?” 

Draco shrugged, taking the envelope out of his pocket and holding it up. “I was writing to Mother. Besides, I couldn’t sleep.” 

That seemed to confuse Potter even more. He dropped the basket he was holding, an apple rolling out as it fell on its side and Potter winced. Silence fell, the rain getting louder and louder and that’s when Draco noticed Potter was shivering. He had probably charmed his clothes dry but even those spells couldn’t warm a wizard back up. Without thinking about it, Draco threw off the green blanket and held it out for Potter to take.

Potter eyed it with question before reaching out timidly, taking the blanket and wrapping it around himself. Draco sighed in relief. “Are you alright?” 

Potter shrugged. He didn’t seem particularly talkative and for a second Draco felt guilty for making Potter talk to him instead of allowing him to go straight to bed, like Potter probably wanted. “Not well, I suppose. Did Hermione tell you?” 

Draco wanted to scoff at how obvious he had been. “She did, yeah. I’m sorry.” 

Potter was the one who actually scoffed this time, digging his bloody awful trainers into the carpet of the Common Room. “No need to be sorry, Malfoy. I chose to spend it with them, didn’t I?”

Draco nodded, “I suppose. Why didn’t you let anyone come with you?” 

Draco couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice. And he had given up on doing so. If Potter found out about Draco’s feelings for him, so be it. Draco had lost the ability to care. Potter looked positively ghastly, eyes red and face tear-stained. He looked all around awful with his shoulders hunched, holding onto the blanket as if his life depended on it. 

Potter tensed at Draco’s words and the bitter taste of regret filled his mouth. “I wanted to be alone.”

“You could have gotten hurt!” Why was Draco so incapable of keeping his mouth  _ shut _ ?! What was he doing? Potter looked like a puppy that had been kicked in the face, but instead it wasn’t a puppy and Draco felt like he was staring down Buckbeak all over again. Potter was raising his walls and Draco wanted to whimper in frustration. 

“Sod off, Malfoy.” 

“No, I won’t! You could have gotten hurt--or worse! Hurt yourself!” It was out of his mouth before Draco could stop himself and even he wanted to wince because Salazar, that was the wrong thing to say.

Potter looked as if he could curse Draco any second now. “Did you--did you tell them?!”

“Po--”

“Did you tell them?! Did you, Malfoy?”

“No, I--”

“For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy! Why do you even care so much?! You’re so  _ bloody  _ confusing! Just last year your entire family wanted me dead and now you’re  _ worried  _ I might hurt myself while visiting my parents? Who, by the way, are  _ dead _ as well? Because of that  _ fucking  _ lunatic? Fuck off, Malfoy!” 

A tiny part of Draco knew that this was Potter lashing out out of sheer frustration and crushing sorrow of having to miss his parents, of having to be around cheerful people and living in a Halloween themed decorated castle while he was the only one sulking for his parents’ death. Draco was aware that this wasn’t Harry Potter speaking, at all, for a small part of himself. 

But the bigger part allowed the words to hurt. The words cut right through Draco’s chest and Draco felt cold. Draco thought Potter cared about him, too. But, perhaps, that had been wishful thinking. Perhaps the compliments and their nightly confessions hadn’t meant anything to Potter other than an inconvenience. The pain was worse than when Potter had sliced his chest open, and Draco allowed himself to show the pain on his face for a short second before he took off up the stairs without another word.

△⃒⃘

Harry had fucked up.

Harry had  _ royally  _ fucked up and he had no clue on how to fix it. Malfoy hadn’t talked to him in a week, even when the nightmares returned in full swing and Harry had to fight the urge to rush outside again. 

His friends had started to notice something was off, too. Hermione was getting along amazingly well with Pansy, the girl joining them for lunch at the Gryffindor table once when Malfoy wasn’t there, and Harry was afraid the two of them talked about him. About him  _ and  _ Malfoy. Ron had seen it, too, for he had offered to skip Care for Magical Creatures to go flying instead. And while Harry hadn’t taken that offer because Hermione had overheard them, he really could use a flight to clear his head.

Malfoy had looked so incredibly hurt and honestly, he had every right to be. What Harry had said was completely out of bounds and based on absolutely  _ nothing _ . He had panicked, sure, because he knew that if his friends knew about his--about what he had wanted to do in the Forest that night all those months ago-- they wouldn’t let him out of their sight. Even though Harry had so many things still to live for and he had realised that he wanted to experience them all, they would probably never stop worrying. 

And while Harry loved his friends dearly and appreciated them more than any words could ever explain, he wanted to keep that to himself. At least for now. And at the prospect of Malfoy having shared that with Hermione and Ron, without asking Harry, combined with the crushing agony that had come with visiting his parents, Harry had lost it. 

And, if Harry was honest with himself, he hadn’t been able to handle the worry in Malfoy’s eyes that night. It gave him hope that Malfoy cared, beyond the whole ‘Malfoy owes me two life debts  _ and  _ his freedom’ and Harry knew that that hope was displaced. 

At least, a tiny part of himself kept telling him that. But, that part of him was loud in Harry’s darkest moments and that night had definitely been one of them. Harry knew now, as he sat on a wooden bench on the stands at the Quidditch pitch, that Malfoy cared because they were friends now. 

Harry chuckled at himself. Eleven year old Harry would have punched himself in the gut for it, but eighteen year old Harry was quite fond of the development. And he had fucked it up, like so many other things in his life. 

It was moments like these where Harry wished he still had Sirius in his life. Sirius would have told him, would have convinced him to get his shit together, walk his ass right to where ever the  _ fuck  _ Malfoy was and apologise. And probably kiss him, too. 

While Harry had always thought Malfoy was a rather handsome fellow, and he had had his theories of the Malfoy’s having some sort of Veela heritage in their blood, actually wanting to pursue his crush was a new development. Wanting to kiss Malfoy, hold his hand and go on dates with him was a foreign feeling but not completely unwanted. Harry deserved his happiness, Merlin knows he has paid his dues, but Malfoy would never want him. He doubted Malfoy was even gay. 

Harry was hit with the feeling of wanting to go home to Malfoy, to cook for him and to sit in a back garden, sharing two mugs of tea as they watch the sun go down and hold each other’s hands. 

Harry was  _ fucked _ . Utterly, extremely fucked. Because such a future didn’t exist. Not when Malfoy still treated his friends-- wait. How did Malfoy treat his friends? Hermione seemed to be on a first name basis with him, which was still odd to Harry. Then again, she was never one to hold extremely long grudges and all about second chances. She had deemed Malfoy worthy of a second chance, apparently, and had somehow roped Ron into doing the same. At least, Ron had said he would trust Harry’s judgement, back when Harry was in the infirmary. 

So that was another ‘Reasons Why A Future With Malfoy Was Impossible’ Harry could scratch off of his list. He had been able to scratch ‘prejudiced’, ‘prick’ and ‘selfish bastard’ off of his mental list, especially after the changes Malfoy had made for himself, within himself and around himself. 

And Merlin, was Harry proud of Malfoy for doing so. After the War, Harry had feared that Malfoy would remain the same, infected by his Father’s beliefs and continuing to be the self righteous asshole he used to be before their sixth year. Then again, Malfoy was the one who had given Hermione that piece of parchment about the basilisk in their second year, to solve the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets despite Malfoy’s clear distaste of Muggleborns. 

It was a theory, of course, something Ron had come up with when the three of them had sat on the back porch at the Burrow, nursing three alcoholic Butterbeers as they reminiscent about their years at Hogwarts and all the stupid shit they had done. Ron was drunk, of course, but the theory made sense. Hermione couldn’t quite remember how she had gotten the piece of parchment, but Ron’s reasoning that Hermione would  _ never  _ in her entire life rip a piece of a book page out of a book made complete sense. 

They hadn’t asked Malfoy, though, and Harry chuckled as he realized that they probably never would. Maybe on a date night, the four of them tipsy in the Leaky Cauldron or some other pub that didn’t quite exist yet. Maybe Malfoy and him could start their own pub. It would have to be higher class, of course, to satisfy Malfoy’s still existing posh taste, but Harry felt warmth rise in his chest at the idea of Malfoy and him owning a pub together. 

It was silly, really, because Harry had never thought of owning a pub before. He was pretty sure he couldn’t even run a bloody business. Although, Fred and George had managed it. And now George still managed it, alongside Percy who sometimes chipped in and after Ron graduated, he would too. 

Fucking hell. Harry bit his lip, trying not to grin too hard at the thought of Malfoy standing behind a bar, bottles of alcohol behind him and laughing guests around him. Harry could see it, how the pub would be decorated with red and green, silver and gold. Tables full of patreons, laughing and drinking and experiencing complete  _ peace _ . 

Harry wiped his eyes with his fingers, groaning in the back of his throat. He could imagine so many different futures with Malfoy, it was ridiculous. Fate, the universe or whoever the  _ fuck  _ regulated these things had played a joke on Harry. Of course it was Malfoy Harry would fall for. Of course it was his ex-nemesis, someone he swore he hated for the biggest part of his teenage years. It was like the plot of one of those ridiculous novels Molly always reads. 

Harry dropped his head in his hands, groaning loudly once more, before he stood up to walk back to the castle. Hermione and Ron were probably still in the library together and Ginny and Luna were serving detention--they had been caught snogging in an empty classroom-- with Hagrid and Merlin knows where Neville was. 

Just as Harry walked up the hill towards one of the entrances, a group of students came down. Harry groaned internally, hoping that they would still leave him alone despite the fact that Halloween had passed. His ‘admirers’, Harry despised the word, had left him relatively alone for the past week. With just a handful of them coming up to him each day, Harry was more than satisfied. 

Harry could make out hushed voices and hissed whispers the closer he got to the group. He smiled politely at them, hoping his fast pace would stop them from approaching him. Of course, that was too much to wish for, because Harry felt one of them tap him on the shoulder just as he had passed them. 

“Harry Potter?” Harry grimaced, blessing everything that he knew for the fact that they couldn’t see him, before turning around with as much of a smile on his face as he could muster. 

“Yes?” He asked, hoping this would be fast. Harry honestly appreciated the attention, he really did, but fucking hell was he done with the mobs of people approaching him wherever he went. During the summer, Ron, Hermione and him had gone for ice-cream in Diagon Alley as Molly and Arthur had some business in Gringotts to attend to, and that had been a huge mistake. Dozens of witches and wizards had mobbed them, asking for autographs, photographs and even life advice. Two days later an article had been published in the Daily Prophet, claiming that Florean Fortescue’s now sold a flavor of ice cream called ‘The Saviour’ which ended up being plain chocolate because that was what Harry had ordered that day. 

“Could we perhaps ask you something?” A boy asked. He had pitch black hair and brown eyes, slightly tanned skin and he looked about fifteen, if Harry had to guess. He nodded, motioning for the boy to go on. The boy cleared his throat. 

“We--uhm-- some students have seen you and Draco Malfoy together. Why is it you became friends with him?” 

_ Oh.  _

Well, that was certainly unexpected. 

Harry reached up to push a hand through his hair, his other hand clenching into a fist. He was aware that Malfoy wasn’t liked by many people in the Wizarding World, that most of them still thought he deserved a cell alongside his father in Azkaban, but he hadn’t expected younger students to share the same sentiment. Foolish, Harry thought. Extremely foolish. 

“Because he is in my year and he’s quite nice.” Harry decided to humor the students with a smile, hoping they would drop it.

“But--he’s--uhm--”

“A Death Eater!” One of the girls that stood next to the boy exclaimed. Her face flushed immediately, one of the other students in the group hitting her arm. 

Harry refrained himself from bristling at the disgust he could see in some of the students’ eyes. “He  _ was  _ a Death-Eater. I spoke for him at his trial because I believed he was different than that, and he is.” 

The boy who had tapped Harry on the shoulder hunched his shoulders. Harry hadn’t meant to snap at them, he really hadn’t, but they needed to know. “But Mr. Potter--”

“There are no buts. What happened in the War was horrible and we as a society lost too many of our own. However, we have to move past it. We need to move on, all of us.” Harry felt bad for interrupting the girl that had said her first words in the conversation, but he felt anger rise in his chest. Why couldn’t people move on? Harry had been prepared to die for peace and yet here people were, prejudiced against yet another group of wizards.

“Now, if you will kindly excuse me, I’m retiring to my Common Room.” The group of students looked like they wanted to say more but they moved out of Harry’s way, letting him pass through and toward the castle. 

Harry sped up his pace, easily waving himself through the slim crowd of students that were around the courtyard. He reached the steps without trouble and was face to face with Harold and another woman that Harry didn’t recognize. 

“Oh, it’s you.” Harry couldn’t be bothered to be hurt by Harold’s clear distaste for him. He had pulled a wand on the ‘poor’ portrait after all, or so Ron had said. Instead, Harry rolled his eyes. Harold was a tosser anyway. 

“Deeply sorry for interrupting your conversation, but I would like to go in.” 

“The password is required, you brute.” 

Harry rolled his eyes at the gasp the new lady in the portrait let out. Harry had never seen her before, perhaps she belonged in one of the new portraits McGonagall had acquired and hung around the castle, but he couldn’t be bothered to ask.

“Dusk.” He muttered, biting the inside of his cheek as the portrait swung open, granting Harry access to the Common Room, finally. Without another word, Harry walked through the opening and into the seemingly empty Common Room. He dropped his cloak onto the couch, the fire heating his body and letting Harry relax into it. It had gotten colder and colder outside, the now November air biting at Harry’s skin, and he appreciated the person who had left the fire on. Despite its warming charms, the castle always grew a little chillier just as the weather did. 

“We have coat racks for those, as I’m sure you know.”

Harry started at the sudden voice, his wand in hand in less than a second as he turned toward where the voice had come from. Malfoy stood in the archway that led to the stairs, his hands up in defeat much like he had done two months ago when he had startled Harry, his face showing absolutely none of his emotions. It was very unlike the Malfoy Harry had gotten used to and it hurt to know that it was his own fault, that he was the reason why Malfoy was pulling back again. 

He knew Malfoy had gotten slightly more comfortable around the eight years. Hannah and Ernie seemed to be fine with everything, accommodating Harry the best they could, and the other girls seemed rather nice to him as well. Harry knew that Malfoy was still hesitant around Ron, Neville and the rest of the boys, but Anthony and Michael had told Harry that they would truce with Malfoy if Harry would. Justin hadn’t shown any interest in Malfoy, but Harry supposed that was better than whatever fights were a possibility. 

Harry hoped that Malfoy was still as comfortable as he had grown to be, or maybe even more, but the words Harry had spoken to Malfoy had hurt him. 

“Malfoy.” Harry said, lowering his wand. 

Malfoy shook his head. Harry frowned. “It’s Black now, actually.” 

Harry choked on his own spit. Black? Had Malfoy--Draco? Black? Calling him Black didn’t seem right?-- changed his last name? Since when? Had he been calling Malfoy the wrong name all these months?

“Huh?” Came Harry’s intelligent response and he winced at his own stupidity. Malfoy--Draco? Merlin that sounded weird and  _ right _ at the same time-- didn’t seem to mind, however, barely shaking his head as he let out a dry chuckle. 

“Mother changed her name back to her maiden name after the divorce was finalized.” Malfoy stayed put where he was, leaning against the stone of the archway, and Harry couldn’t help but marvel at Malfoy’s long legs, his hair effortlessly styled in a way that reminded Harry of how he used to wear it in third year and the way Malfoy still seemed guarded, like he was letting Harry take a peek at what lay beyond his walls but not fully lowering them. Not like he had done every single time they spent the night walking around Hogwarts grounds. 

“And you followed?” 

Malfoy nodded, “It seemed right. Draco Black sounds a bit odd still, but I reckon I’ll get used to it.” 

“Why?” Harry took a step forward. He was prepared for Malfoy to take a step back and keep the distance between them, but he didn’t. Malfoy stayed put and Harry allowed himself to smile. 

“Because I despise everything the Malfoy name stands for. Let that horrendous legacy die with my father.” Merlin, Harry was so proud of Malfoy. 

“That’s--that’s quite amazing, Mal--” Harry stopped himself, biting his lip. Malfoy looked at him with a tiny grin, as if challenging Harry to finish that sentence. Harry felt heat surge through his chest; he wouldn’t fall for it. He would not lose to Draco. 

“That’s amazing,  _ Draco _ .” 

Draco fell silent. He clearly hadn’t expected for Harry to call him by his first name, something that to strangers might seem like the most idiotic thing to be shocked about, but was a big deal to them. Harry could almost physically feel Draco’s resolve crumble, much like part of his own was crumbling around him. 

“I’m sorry about what I said the night of Halloween.” Harry spoke, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. He was so glad that no one else was in the room, everyone out and about enjoying their Saturday, because now he had time and space to apologize to Draco and maybe even explain himself. 

“It hurt.” 

Harry nodded, internally appreciating the fact that Draco didn’t wave it off, didn’t say ‘it’s okay’ like so many other people would have done if Harry had accidentally hurt them. Or maybe even on purpose. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I know you would never tell Hermione and Ron about it and I trust you more than my words gave away that night. I was just--not in the right state of mind. That’s not an excuse, but I hope it can be an explanation.” 

Draco nodded. Harry could see more of Draco’s walls crumbling. Harry ignored the feeling of fondness that crashed over him like a tidal wave as he watched Draco smile. 

“I accept your apology, Potter. I should have probably been more tactful than I was.” Harry hoped it didn’t show on his face how much it stung that Draco still called him Potter instead of Harry. He shook his head instead.

“That’s okay, Draco.” 

Draco stood there for a few moments, eyes firmly trained on Harry as if he was gauging his reaction. Harry felt strangely naked, exposed, and he couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him. 

“I was worried about you, you know?” 

Harry felt his heart skip a beat. It was normal for friends to worry about one another, he knew that, but the way Draco was looking at him suggested something else. Harry shook it off, though, blaming it on the grey natural lighting that came through the windows. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Draco snorted and shook his head. “I reckon it comes with being friends with you, Potter.” 

Harry laughed at that, too. He did have a pendant for getting into trouble, but he hoped that was all over now. Life was troubling, sure, but Harry was prepared to live his future in as much peace as he could manage. He would attend Ministry meetings, would ensure the peace over the Wizard World and would do what was needed to prevent yet another War from forming within the, albeit scarce, Pureblood ranks, but other than that he would live his life the way he wanted it.

It was shocking to him that somehow, Draco had found his way into Harry’s future plans, the daydreams he would have about it. Somehow, Draco had eased himself into it. Right next to Harry. 

Harry had to prepare himself for the fact that that would never happen. That Draco would be part of his future, sure, but not in the way that Harry seemed to want. It shocked Harry how much he wanted it, all of it, and how it was Draco he wanted it with. 

△⃒⃘

Draco sighed heavily, the sound of Harry calling him ‘Draco’ still ringing in his ears even though it had been more than a week. In such a short period of time, a lot had happened. Draco had eaten breakfast at the Gryffindor table for the first time just yesterday, to name one. Potter hadn’t had one of his nightmare wanderings again, which had left Draco and him to hang out during the day. Sometimes they were alone and sometimes Weasley, Granger or Pansy joined them. 

And while it made Draco happy to have some sort of a normal routine, something a regular teen at Hogwarts would experience for  _ once _ , spending time with Potter made Draco want things he could never have.

He sighed again, eyes trained on the drapery of his bed. Images of Potter and him cuddling, going on dates to Hogsmeade and even moving in together filled his mind and Draco didn’t stop them. Nights were the time where he allowed himself to hope, to think and to let his thoughts and dreams take form in his mind. Little snippets of what life with Potter could be like got Draco through the day. 

They were making progress and becoming better friends by the day. Easy banter was starting to flow between the two of them, much better than the insults they used to throw at each other when they were younger. Draco liked it so much it scared him. It was a terrifying thought that he was in love--was he in love? Draco wasn’t entirely sure but he wouldn’t be surprised-- with someone who would never love him like that. Deep down in the darkest corners of Draco’s mind Draco knew he wasn’t worth love, from anyone, but especially not from Potter. 

Draco turned to lay on his side, the mattress dipping as Draco cast his eyes on the window. He hadn’t closed that curtain, instead allowing himself to look at the stars. He reached over to his bedside table and grabbed the letter his mother had sent him. He cast a dim lumos, hoping it wouldn’t wake any of the other boys in the dorm, before opening the envelope. 

_ To my dearest Draco,  _

_ I am delighted to know you have decided to change your name, just as I have. Your Father is less pleased, I assume, but that does not concern us any longer.  _

_ Now, while I am deeply curious as to who you are referring to, I may have an inkling as to who it is. I will not ask, however, for I will wait for you to tell me as yourself. I will accept them, no matter what. For if my son loves someone, I will love them the same. Sadly, I do not possess any knowledge on the male side of courting rituals. Your Father and I married young. I do, however, possess the knowledge on what you may be able to do to convince your person to give you a try.  _

_ Now I would not know as to why someone would ever not take you as their significant other, however it may be someone who you have only just recently grown close to. If that is what is currently taking place, I suggest you do research on your own on the courting rituals of people your age. I assume your generation of witches and wizards possess different ways than what your Father courted me with.  _

_ As for the blanket, I completely agree. It is rather odd that Muggles invented it, however it was worth the trouble of purchasing it. Andromeda and I have gone back to the same establishment since and have purchased several others. Your little cousin Teddy has one of his own now, as well. His is bright blue, and he adores it.  _

_ Thank you, my love, for letting me experience these things. My curiosity knows no limits now that I have the time and freedom to do whatever I please. As you know, the people who live close to us have one witch and a muggle in their midst. They invited me to have tea with them the day after tomorrow. I am rather excited, my dear.  _

_ Christmas is weeks away but I am eagerly awaiting your arrival.  _

_ Love,  _

_ Narcissa Black.  _

_ Post scriptum: if the courting does not work, there is always the option of brewing a love potion.  _

Draco still couldn’t believe that his mother had actually made a  _ joke _ . And that she was going to have tea with a Muggle. And that her and Aunt Andromeda had gone shopping in Muggle stores  _ again _ . She was becoming a woman Draco didn’t know, but he found himself liking her. He knew his mother cared for him, loved him dearly, and that that would never change. 

Her love shone through every single word in the letter. How she had declared that, no matter what happened and who it was, she would welcome them with open arms. Draco knew that none of those words would change even if his mother found out it was Potter who he was referring to. She would probably smile knowingly. 

Draco smiled to himself, raising the letter to his nose and inhaling the perfume his mother had been using ever since he was a little boy. It reminded him of home, of good things, and he felt his heart calm down almost instantly. 

Draco put the letter back into its envelope, opening one of the drawers and shutting it softly. He kept all of the letters he received. So far, it had only been his mother, but he didn’t want to throw them away. They gave him comfort. 

With the sound of a curtain being pulled open roughly, Draco’s heart sped back up. Beside him, Goldstein stirred in his bed before stilling again, and Draco released a sigh of relief. He moved to sit at the end of his bed, the chill of the night now touching his skin, and peered through his curtains to see Potter opening his trunk and taking out his invisibility cloak. 

Draco wasn’t sure whether Potter wanted him to join, but he couldn’t help himself as he edged off of his bed, taking his wand and throwing on a cloak himself without muttering a word. When Draco turned around to see whether Potter was still there he was standing at the wooden door, eyes trained on Draco and  _ waiting _ . Draco felt his heart skip a beat and he was suddenly grateful for the darkness that they were surrounded in, for Potter wouldn’t be able to see his cheeks flush. 

They walked through the Common Room in silence but Draco noticed something was off as soon as he walked next to Potter. He could sense Potter was distressed in a way he hadn’t seen before, his arms shaking and flinching away with every little sound, no matter where it came from.

Draco wanted to huddle Potter close, take him in his arms and put him on the couch where then, in a perfect world, Potter would tell him what was going on and why he was suddenly like this, and maybe Draco could try and kiss it better. And sooth Potter in other ways, of course. 

They passed through the portrait without a word, Harold muttering under his breath as Potter held up the invisibility cloak so Draco could hide under it as well. Draco did so dutifully. Potter seemed distracted, his eyes glazed over as if he was somewhere far far away and experiencing many different things that he didn’t have to think about anymore. Things that had clearly hurt him. 

Draco followed Potter down the stairs and into the cold of the outside world, where Potter took off the cloak and sat down on a stone bench, to the side of the courtyard. Draco’s eyes widened. Perhaps Potter had dreamed of Dumbledore. Or of the Forest. Maybe he had even dreamed of almost drowning in the Lake. 

Merlin, Potter sure had a lot of nightmare material. 

Draco took a seat next to Potter, immediately noticing the quivering and shaking beside him. Draco wanted to reach out. Instead, he folded his hands on his lap and waited for either Potter to start talking or for them to go back inside once more. 

It was quite cold, the winter breeze flowing through the grounds and chilling everything and everyone it touched. It looked gorgeous though, Hogwarts surrounded by a clear starry sky. Draco didn’t know how he could have ever thought of Hogwarts as anything but incredible. 

“I remember getting my letter for the first time.” Draco snapped his gaze from where it had travelled upward to some of the statues along the castle walls back to Potter, who sat with his head bowed down as if his knees had somehow become incredibly interesting. Draco didn’t say anything, hoping that Potter would continue. 

“I was so incredibly confused. I didn’t even know magic existed in other ways than in the stories I had read about, and yet here Hagrid was. Telling me that I was a wizard and a properly famous one at that.” 

Draco frowned, “You didn’t know magic existed?” 

Draco had known that Potter had been raised by muggles instead of his parents or godfather. But he had always been under the impression that Potter was at least informed of what he was, what he was going to become and what lived inside of him. It made Draco shiver to his very core to know that Potter hadn’t known about magic until he had gotten his Hogwarts letter. 

Potter chuckled and Draco could still hear the tears in his voice. “My aunt and uncle weren’t exactly fans of the Wizarding World, I learned later on. They called me a  _ freak _ and never acknowledged it.” 

Something inside of Draco stirred as he felt the anger grip at his throat. Those muggles had had the audacity to call Potter a freak?

“A freak?!” Draco winced at his own voice, knowing full well that this was not what Potter needed right now. Potter, however, didn’t seem to mind. 

“One of the lesser ones they used to call me, honestly.” 

Draco raised his eyebrows. Potter was still looking at his knees, his hands still trembling. Without a thought, Draco reached out and took one of Potter’s hands into his own. Potter gasped audibly and Draco tensed, afraid that Potter would pull away and run. Instead, he squeezed Draco’s hand like a lifeline.

“They weren’t exactly nice to me. The first time I got a proper hug was when I was eleven from Hermione.” Draco squeezed Potter’s hand again, offering him whatever support he could give right now. Draco was stricken with dread, heavy guilt weighing down his chest. The amount of times Potter had been ridiculed by his fellow students for his lack of knowledge in basic Wizarding facts and etiquettes. How Snape had drilled him in his first ever Potions class. 

The amount of times Draco had laughed along with those jokes and had made them himself. Potter was a scrawny git when he first got to Hogwarts and looked  _ horribly  _ underfed, but eleven year old Draco had assumed it was because he was poor. He flinched easily and suddenly it clicked in Draco’s mind. All of it made so much more sense. The way Potter would eat his food as if it would be taken away from him any second. The way Potter had no regard for his own safety. It all made so much sense. 

“They abused you.” Draco stated. Potter squeezed his hand and his head lowered again. Draco wanted to scream. He wanted to Apparate right through Hogwarts’ wards and find those horrible muggles and kill them all. Or hurt them severely, at least. 

“Do you know why I hate dark, tiny spaces?” 

Draco was suddenly taken back to when, for Charms, they were forced to get into a closet and unlock it from the inside out using advanced unlocking charms. Draco had thought nothing of it, until Potter had gotten in and had gotten out looking so much paler, in an almost panic. 

Draco shook his head. He didn’t know. 

“For the first eleven years of my life I slept in a cupboard. The spiders inside were my friends. Sometimes they would lock me in there, if I didn’t behave.” 

Draco’s eyes widened for the upteenth time that night, his hand squeezing Potter’s as a response. He was trying really hard to keep his anger at bay. He didn’t want to scare Potter, didn’t want him to stop. 

“A cupboard?!” Draco hissed. Potter shrugged, raising his head to look at Draco for the first time since they had sat down. He looked absolutely gorgeous in the moonlight. Draco could see the tears still rolling down Potter’s cheeks, however, and it pained him. 

“The only reason why I got my own room was because they were afraid. And because, to their annoyance, I had gotten too big for the cupboard.” Potter sniffled and Draco reached up to touch his cheek on instinct, wiping away some of the tears that were threatening to stain Potter’s cheeks. 

Potter shook him off, however, and leant away. Draco felt his heart break, a little piece falling off. Before he could apologize though, Potter squeezed his hand. 

“You confuse me, Draco.” The way his name sounded rolling off of Potter’s lips made Draco feel things, fluttering in his stomach and his heart beating harshly in his chest. 

“I can’t disagree with you.” Potter’s tiny smile seemed genuine, as if he had expected such a response, and Draco couldn’t help but mirror it. 

“Can I ask you something, Draco?” 

Potter’s voice sounded so incredibly fragile it made Draco want to hold him forever, preventing him from shattering as if he was a piece of glass that needed the protection. But Draco knew that Potter could fend for himself; he was strong enough to do so. But, everybody wants to be protected, no matter how strong they are. Draco nodded, tightening his hold on Potter’s hand. The wind picked back up, as if sensing the tension between the two of them, and Draco found himself awed at the way Potter’s hair ruffled in the wind. It was a mess, sure, but it looked good on Potter. 

“What are we doing here?” 

“What do you mean?” Draco knew exactly what Potter meant. He wasn’t sure if he could explain it to Potter. Draco wasn’t sure he was ready for the rejection just yet. 

By the look in Potter’s eyes, Draco knew that he wasn’t getting out of this, however. He knew that look and he knew that it meant they would not be leaving this bench until Draco had explained himself, had confessed or whatever Potter expected him to do and then Potter would end their friendship. 

“I mean that--fuck Draco--I mean that you’re confusing. One day you’re incredibly sweet and look like you want to hold me till the end of time and then the next day I feel like I’m a nuisance to you. You make me feel things, Draco, things I have never felt before, and I am sick of running away from them.” 

Well. fuck fuck fuckity  _ fuck  _ fuck. 

Malfoys did not cry. Malfoys never cried. But Draco wasn’t a Malfoy anymore and as far as he was concerned, Blacks  _ did  _ cry. At least his Mother did. And therefore, Draco allowed himself to let a few tears fall down his own cheeks, turning his face away from Potter to hide them. 

This was more than he deserved. So much more than anything he would ever deserve and yet here Potter was handing it to him. 

“You--what--Harry?” 

Potter--Harry? Was he Harry now? Draco found himself kind of really liking that thought-- chuckled, squeezing Draco’s hand. Draco decided that this was going to be their thing. Holding hands and squeezing them whenever they pleased. Salazar, Draco didn’t deserve this. 

“I like you, Draco. More than I’ve ever liked anyone. And I need to know if you feel the same, if I’ve been reading the signals right.” Harry sounded so desperate, so full of want, Draco turned to face him again. 

“How could you think I didn’t like you?” Draco asked, voice raw with emotion. He wasn’t sure whether Harry had actually moved to sit closer to him but suddenly their faces were much closer than they had been before. Draco swallowed. 

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh my god.” 

Draco frowned, still not fully sure who that was. Was it a positive thing? “What?”

“It’s just so  _ ridiculous,  _ don’t you think?” Harry’s voice sounded less fragile now, warmth seeping into it. Draco didn’t take offense to Harry calling the situation ridiculous. It was ridiculous, especially with their past and everything they had gone through. Yet, it felt incredibly right. Draco would gladly live a life of ridiculousness if that meant he was going to have Harry by his side for the remainder of it. 

“I can’t say I disagree with that, either.” Draco said, allowing a grin to split his face. His heart surged when Harry returned it, despite his red eyes. Draco reached out again, cupping Harry’s face with his hands, and he caressed Harry’s cheeks with his thumbs. Harry lifted one hand, taking Draco’s right hand in his own. The air around them may have been cold but Draco couldn’t feel that, for all he felt was the warmth that spread through him at Harry’s touch. 

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asked, squeezing Draco’s hand. Draco’s eyes widened in slight shock, still surprised that this was actually happening. Harry seemed to guess what Draco was thinking, a chuckle leaving his lips as he leant in closer. Draco followed suit, pressing their lips together in the middle.

Harry hummed almost immediately, relaxing against Draco as their lips moved together. Harry’s lips were as soft as Draco had imagined them to be; slightly chapped but just as wonderful. Draco hummed right back, letting Harry open his mouth and push his tongue inside. Their teeth clashed together, hands caressing whatever they could find. It was clumsy and nothing close to perfect but Draco  _ loved  _ it. It was them; Harry and him. Just as they were supposed to be. 

△⃒⃘

Things were not going to be perfect and Harry knew this from the  _ very  _ moment he started liking Draco. They were going to bicker, arguments were going to happen and the Wizarding World would definitely disagree with their relationship. Which, they had confirmed it was actually a relationship as Draco had led Harry back to bed after they had finished snogging each other senseless. 

But Harry was alright with that. He turned to look at Draco from across their dormitory and watched as Draco put on a school jumper and well fitted pants. He looked absolutely amazing and Harry wanted to do nothing more but walk up to Draco and kiss him. 

However, he couldn’t, because they hadn’t told their friends nor classmates about last nights’ developments. Not that they had had the possibility, really, because they had gotten back to their beds at at least four in the morning, and Harry wasn’t even sure whether Draco was okay with it being out in the open just yet. 

Things had happened quite quickly the night before. Harry still couldn’t quite believe it was real. How he had shared some of his memories with the Dursleys, how Draco had gotten mad on his behalf and how they had kissed and laughed like twelve year olds at their own stupidity. The memory of it made Harry’s stomach flutter and he smiled to himself, turning back to his own trunk to pull on his own jumper. 

“Slept like a baby last night, mate. You?” Ron asked, putting one hand on Harry’s shoulder. Around them were the sounds of the other boys getting ready, some of them in the bathroom while others were either here or already headed downstairs. Harry could see that Justin was still in bed, sleeping. 

“Slept alright.” Harry wasn’t sure whether Draco wanted him to tell his friends just yet. They  _ really  _ should have discussed that. They were going to have breakfast with a thousand other people today and while Harry hated to admit it, eyes were on him more than he wanted them to be. 

“No nightmares?” Ron continued, making Harry shake his head. 

“Not heavy ones, at least. Uncle Vernon, nothing much else.” Harry shrugged, hoping that his honesty would ease Ron’s worry. Ron still frowned but dropped it. Harry was grateful for that, at least. 

“Mione’s probably waiting for us.” 

“Yeah go along mate, I’ll catch up with you guys. Need to try and-er--fix my hair.” That was rubbish. Pure and utter rubbish and Ron seemed to notice. He shrugged it off easily, though, making his way out of the room to undoubtedly go and ask Hermione whether she knew more. 

Harry waited for the others to leave, nodding at most of them in greeting and accepting any smiles sent his way. After a few moments Draco and him ended up the only ones left in the dormitories. Harry watched as Draco turned around to look at him, giving him a quick once over. 

“Something wrong, Harry? You never fix that bird's nest of yours.” Draco said, a sly grin appearing on his face. Harry chuckled. It’s odd. Several years ago he would’ve liked to sock Draco in the face for such a grin but all he could feel now were butterflies and glee that said smile was directed at him and no one else. 

Harry still carded a hand through his hair for good measure. 

“I was wondering how we’re going to, you know, do this.” Harry gestured vaguely between them with his hands, making Draco let out a chuckle of his own. The look on his face could only be described as fondness and it made Harry’s heart beat quicker in his chest. 

“As much as I would love to march you into the Great Hall and kiss you in front of everyone to show that you’re completely off the market, I’d rather have my Mother hear it from me than the Prophet.” Harry felt his face heat up at the possessiveness in Draco’s words, the blond coming close to wrap his arms around Harry’s waist. He bit his lip, nodding in understanding. Mr.s Malfoy--Black-- had to probably have heard of their new grown friendship through the papers, after all. 

Harry couldn’t help the disappointment in his face, however. “I understand.”

Draco smiled at him again, placing a soft kiss on his lips. Harry wasn’t sure how he had gone his entire life without seeing such a beautiful sight and feeling those lips against his, but he would do anything in his power to see and feel it more often. Draco leaned forward again, following up his soft kiss with yet another one. Harry forgot about his complaints immediately. 

He wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck and grinned. “Are you ever going to stop doing that?”

Draco’s face turned serious and for a second Harry feared he had said something wrong. “I will not, Harry. Those lips of yours are irresistible and deserve to be kissed all the time.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. They probably looked like complete fools but he didn’t mind. It felt nice to be pressed up against Draco’s chest like this. He could definitely get used to this. 

“I’ll owl her after breakfast. Knowing my Mother, she will write back right away.” Draco said into Harry’s hair, voice muffled. Harry hummed against Draco’s shoulder, their height difference suddenly  _ extremely  _ useful. 

“Alright. Can I tell my friends, though? Hermione and Ron at least.” Harry asked. He knew his friends would have to get used to the idea of Draco and him being together, so Harry wanted to approach them about it very carefully. Despite everything, Hermione’s second chances and Ron’s words in the infirmary, Draco was still Draco. The boy who used to make their life as horrible as possible. 

But Draco was no longer that person. Harry knew Draco still had his faults, just like any other human on the planet, but he knew that he had changed for the better. Draco was no longer Draco Malfoy, poster boy and prejudiced against those who weren’t purebloods. Draco had become Draco Black, a boy who was trying really hard to atone for the mistakes his father had made and make a better life for him and his mother. 

Draco went rigid in their embrace for a short moment, before nodding. “Weasley isn’t going to like it, is he?”

Harry shrugged. “I reckon we’ll be alright.” 

He knew that Ron wanted him to be happy. They had had that conversation before, right after Ginny and Harry had decided to not continue their relationship after the War. Ron had understood completely. Of course he was disappointed to not have Harry as his brother-in law, but he had also told Harry that he wanted him to be happy, no matter what. They both deserved it. 

And Harry knew he had friends he wouldn’t trade for the world. And he hoped they knew that, too. 

Draco snorted. Harry pulled away a little bit, seeing the grin on Draco’s face change from amusement to a pained one. Harry wanted to kiss it away. “His entire family hates me, rightfully so.” 

Harry scowled. “The Weasleys know perfectly well you weren’t the one who raised his wand and killed Fred, if that’s what you’re worried about. George might need more time than the others, but none of them blame you. You were just a kid.” 

Draco closed his eyes, his body relaxing just a tad bit. Harry counted it as a victory. “We were all children, Harry. I happen to be the one of Lucius Malfoy, known for his horrid behaviour against the Weasleys.” 

Harry wanted to hit his boyfriend across the head. He refrained from doing as such, though, because he realized that that might give the wrong impression, especially in moments like these. Draco’s worry showed that he cared, that he wanted to fit into Harry’s life and that he knew that the Weasleys meant so much to Harry. It warmed Harry’s heart. 

“And if I remember correctly, Arthur shook your hand after the trials. You are not your Father, Draco. Molly wanted to feed you the instant she saw the way you looked on the stand, you know? She kept muttering about it after we got back to the Burrow. She even asked me if it would be odd to send you a pie.” Harry watched as Draco opened his eyes from when he had closed them right after mentioning his father, the pure hope in them almost blinding. 

“I would love to taste her cooking one day.” 

Harry grinned. This was Draco’s way of agreeing and Harry couldn’t wait to tell Ron and Hermione. “Thank you, Draco. And I’m sure she’ll be delighted to feed you. It’s kind of their custom response to people.” 

Draco snorted. “Don’t tell me that’s how you became part Weasley.” 

Harry smiled, “It is! Molly knitted my first ever Christmas present.” 

Draco’s eyes widened. “But you didn’t know Weasley till you were eleven!” 

Oh. Merlin. Harry shouldn’t have said that. He nodded, though, reaching to his own waist to squeeze Draco’s hand. “It’s okay, Draco.” 

Draco pulled away, his mouth agape. “How can you say that?! You never got anything for Christmas till you were eleven?!” 

Harry wanted to laugh. Draco looked outright comical with his arms spread wide, hair a bit askew from when he had shaken his head and his mouth wide open in shock. He didn’t laugh, however. This was probably more important to Draco than it was to Harry. 

“Actually I did. I got half an eraser once.” Harry commented, knowing full well Draco had no idea what an eraser was. Within a split second Draco raised his eyebrows and Harry had to bite his lip to prevent himself from laughing. When he was younger, Christmas had always been a sore spot. But Harry could joke about it now. He had gotten a knitted sweater every Christmas since his first year and he wouldn’t change it for the world. 

“Okay, first of all; I’m buying you a Christmas present. And a shit ton of them, too. Second of all: what is an eraser?” The way Draco looked genuinely interested made Harry want to coo. The other part of that sentence, however, made him want to scowl. 

He ended up not being able to do either of those things, for Draco pressed back up against him with a mischievous grin. “You can’t stop me, Harry. And, I guess I’ll ask Granger.” 

With that, Draco pulled away. Harry was left feeling slightly colder, missing the heat that Draco had radiated. 

“If you don’t mind, I’ll tell Pansy, too.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course I don’t mind, Draco.” 

Draco grinned, “Good. We should probably head downstairs right about now. I’m positive there are people waiting for us.” 

△⃒⃘

And Draco knew he had been right the second he sat down at Slytherin table, Pansy’s eyes on him like a hawk. “You’re smiling.”

Draco rolled his eyes, shoveling some eggs onto his plate. Juice appeared in his mug, cranberry Draco guessed from the color. “I smile quite a lot, Pansy. Maybe you just didn’t notice.” 

“Something happened.” Pansy continued, raising her fork to her mouth. She seemed to think about what exactly had happened as she chewed, eyes firmly trained on Draco. Draco tried to shrug it off, tried to hide the slight blush that was appearing on his damned  _ pale  _ skin. What he had told Harry was true. He would have loved to walk into the Great Hall with Harry’s hand in his own, their fingers intertwined. 

However, he was also honest when he had told Harry that Mother deserved to know from him, first, before she would read it in the Prophet. Draco wasn’t sure whether she still read it, but he wouldn’t take any chances. If she did read it, she would have probably guessed something was going on, for there had been multiple articles about Harry and his growing friendship. 

“Morgana and Salazar both! You finally kissed him!” 

Draco stopped his fork halfway to his mouth. He moved his gaze from his food to Pansy, who was watching him with a triumphant smile. “How did you--”

“Oh please, Draco. Nothing else in this world could make you smile like that.” 

“False. You used legemency.” 

Pansy snorted, “As much as I would  _ love  _ to know what goes on inside your head sometimes, I have yet to succeed at that skill and you know that.” 

Draco did know that, but it didn’t lessen his suspicions. He couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief, however, at the acceptance that grew with Pansy’s smile. “Thanks, Pansy.” 

Instead of asking Draco why he was thanking her, she just winked at him. “Now that you’ve got yourself a boyfriend, when do we get me a girlfriend?” 

Draco rolled his eyes, “That’s impossible, I’m afraid. You’re going to own fourteen cats and die alone, dear.” 

Pansy scoffed, flicking a tiny piece of toast his way. Draco grinned. “Also, I would like it if you wouldn’t tell anyone just yet.”

Pansy frowned. “He didn’t ask you for that, did he? Is he ashamed, Draco? Because I will hex his bollocks off.” 

Draco swallowed his bite and shook his head. “The opposite, really. I asked for the secrecy, even if just for a little. I want to tell Mother first before she has to read it in the Prophet.” 

That made Pansy relax again. Draco was grateful for her in many, many ways. She had been there for him when no one else really was. She understood, had gone through nearly the same changes as he had and they still remained friends. Draco hoped they would stay that way till they were both old and could reminisce about their youths. “That’s quite understandable.” 

“I still can’t quite believe it, if I’m being honest.” 

“What? The fact that after all this time the both of you finally realized you were meant for each other? Or perhaps that Potter is a worse kisser than you had expected?” Pansy joked. Around them students started getting up, breakfast plates disappearing as everyone went to get ready to spend their Sunday with whatever activity they wanted. Draco realized that he didn’t have a lot of homework to do after breakfast, so he could write to his mother. 

Draco shook his head. “Harry is quite the good kisser, if you must know.” 

Pansy faked a gag. “Spare me the details, Draco.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. His neck itched, gathering his attention. He turned his head to see what was happening when his eyes met Harry’s across the hall. Harry smiled at him before turning back to his friends, who seemed rather engrossed in a conversation Harry also seemed to be part of. Draco wondered if Harry told them at the table. The female Weasley was nowhere in sight but Longbottom was seated next to Harry, so Draco doubted it. 

He smiled back, even though Harry wouldn’t see it, and returned to his food. 

△⃒⃘

“What did you need us for, Harry?” Hermione asked as the three of them made their way down the hill. They had all bundled up well enough for it not to be cold but Harry still kind of regretted taking them outside instead of doing it within the warm walls of the castle. Then again, the castle had eyes and ears everywhere and no one else was allowed to know just yet.

“Do I need a reason?” Harry tried to joke, making Ron roll his eyes. 

“Mate you told me you were fixing your hair this morning. Something must have happened.” 

Harry sighed. The three of them reached the lake easily, and Hermione promptly sat down on a boulder, her eyes trained firmly on Harry. It made him uneasy. “Is everything alright?”

Harry nodded, “I’m doing alright. Better than I have been in a while, actually.” 

“But that’s amazing, Harry! How did that happen?” Hermione continued, a smile on her face. Harry really hoped that smile would stay there as he explained the reason for his sudden happiness. Ron looked a bit confused, his hand holding Hermione’s but his eyes on Harry. 

“Er--well-- first I need you to promise you won’t get mad.” 

“Well that’s hardly possible Harry. It totally depends on what you did, doesn’t it? Did you shag a dragon?” 

Harry snorted. Let Ron be the guy to defuse the tension. 

“No, Ron. I didn’t shag a dragon. Although, I’ll keep it in mind.”

Hermione rolled her eyes with a grin on her face. “We promise we won’t get mad. Now tell us!”

Hermione’s everlasting curiosity didn’t die down when it came to her friends. She was always nosy, wanting to help, and she knew what was happening before everyone else did on most occasions. It was something Harry had grown rather fond of and deep inside he knew that Hermione must have some sort of idea already. 

“Well--er-- Draco and I--may have--”

“You and Draco are finally dating?” Ron asked, making Harry stop mid sentence. 

“What?” 

“Look Ron, he’s turning red! I was right!” 

“Of course you were, Mione.” The fond look on Ron’s face said louder than words and Harry groaned. 

“Thanks for ruining my announcement, you twats.” Harry made a show of sitting on his own bolder, folding his arms and pouting. He probably looked ridiculous but his friends were arseholes. Sort of. He also loved them a lot. 

“Oh Harry! I’m so happy for you!” Hermione rushed out of Ron’s hold and toward Harry, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. The angle was awkward, Harry’s crossed arms touching her breasts, but he couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t deserve his friends, he truly didn’t.

“Thanks, Hermione. It means a lot.” 

Harry opened his eyes to look at Ron over Hermione’s shoulder. He seemed to be less ecstatic, but Harry had seen that coming. He knew Ron would come around one way or the other, he was just made like that, but he was still slightly nervous as he watched his best friend from a distance. 

Hermione pulled away, smacking Harry’s shoulder. “And since when?! I can’t believe you haven’t told us!” 

Harry opened his mouth in a gasp. “It was last night!” 

“Last night? Harry! Did you sneak out  _ again _ ?” Hermione screeched, sounding exasperated. Before Harry could reply, however, Ron took a step forward.

“Lay off him, Mione. Something good came out of it, didn’t it?” The smile Ron sent Harry’s way was small but it was there. It was a timid form of acceptance, but it was there, and that meant more to Harry than he could ever begin to explain. 

“You are both amazing, you know that right?” 

“Well Hermione is, of course. She’s bloody brilliant, after all. Me? I’m just your best mate, mate. I just hope he’ll make you happy and if he hurts you I know an Unforgiveable or two.”

While Harry snorted, Hermione gasped in shock. “Ronald!” 

“Just joking, Hermione! I would just hex his bollocks off, maybe freeze his arse and cut his hair in his sleep.” 

“Ron!” 

Ron laughed at Hermione and Harry, shaking his head. “What? I can’t be the threatening best friend? Someone’s gotta do it!” 

Harry tugged Ron forward, the three of them forming a very small huddle. “Thank you, mate. I know this isn’t easy for you. For neither of you.” 

Ron's expression turned to a frown. “Look, mate. Malfoy and I haven’t always been friends, but even a blind wizard can tell that Malfoy has changed after the end of the War. Much like other people. You deserve your happiness, especially after  _ everything _ , and if that means that you’re going to be shagging Malfoy for the rest of your life, so be it. I’ll still hold your best man’s speech.” 

Harry closed his eyes. He could feel tears starting to well in his eyes and he sighed, his breath shaky. “I love you, mate.” 

Ron hit Harry on the back two times. Hermione took a step back, giving the two of them more space. Harry squeezed Ron close, inhaling the scent that he had grown to be fond of and that reminded him of so many happy memories. 

“I love you too, mate. Nothing will change that.” 

“Oh you two!” Harry turned his head to where Hermione was standing, her eyes watery as well. 

“Come in here!” Harry opened one of his arms and Hermione rushed forward again, enveloping Ron and him in a tight hug. 

“You both are the greatest, I hope you know that.” 

“Of course we do, mate.”

△⃒⃘

Draco bit his lip. He watched one of the school owls fly off, the cold wind of the nearing winter cutting at his cheeks as he stood on the stairs of the owlery. The letter to his mother hadn’t been an easy one to write. Not because Draco hadn’t been able to find the words, but because he was nervous. 

What for he didn’t know, exactly. He knew his mother would be supportive of Harry and him. After Harry saved him from the Fiendfyre and the eager will from the ministry to put him in Azkaban, Draco’s mother had grown fond of Harry. He shared the same sentiment, quite obviously, but slightly different. 

He knew his mother would be nothing but loving, and Draco supposed that isn’t entirely where the nerves came from. There was a whole world outside of the safe wards of Hogwarts, where people despised him for who he was, for what he had on his arm and for what his father had done. No matter how much Draco would try to redeem himself in the future, people would always see him as such and will continue to do so. 

What if Harry got sick of that? What if he started to hate Draco for the negative press, the hating wizards and witches and the lack of support they would probably receive? There was no way the public was going to take them dating as a positive thing, especially so fresh out of the War. The British Wizarding World was still in shambles, remnants of what Voldemort had done everywhere. His silent supporters had not been punished, Death-Eaters were still on the loose and Draco knew that despite the peace that he had felt on platform 9 ¾ it was everything but peaceful as of right now. 

And sure, the papers could use a positive thing to report on. The Daily Prophet, as far as Draco knew from Pansy’s updates, had been scrambling to find heart lifting stories, to keep people happy while the Ministry worked hard for the peace everyone desired behind the scenes. 

So  _ The Saviour _ having found a significant other would be the news that would keep the people happy, content, even if for just a few days. But, if said person was an ex-Death-Eater, Draco doubted the people would be as happy. 

Draco tried to remind himself of Harry’s smile, his blinding green eyes that shone with so much determination, courage and loyalty it made Draco’s heart skip a beat. As he leaned against the cold stonewall of the owlery, Draco allowed himself to think of a possible future with Harry, the thought of Harry’s lips on his the only soothing thought on his mind. 

Draco allowed himself to think. Perhaps they would travel after graduation. Draco had gone to Paris a few times as a child and he was sure Harry would love it. Maybe they would find a house together, or move into Grimmauld Place. There was the thought and  _ want  _ to wake up to Harry’s shy grin, his skin kissed by the morning sun. Draco had never thought of himself as a domestic kind of bloke. Granted, he had never thought of himself as someone who would bend to his father’s wishes to such an extent, either. 

Draco wanted simplicity with Harry. He knew that Harry wanted the same. It was visible in everything Harry did, everything Harry said. He never tried to be the best in anything anymore. Of course, in some classes it was a given that Harry was the best, but Harry didn’t excel in much else. Harry never spoke of big dreams, only of small attainable ones. Perhaps this was a way to cope. Maybe Harry believed that he wouldn’t be around to reach the bigger dreams anymore. Perhaps Harry thought that everything would go back to how things were during the War. Maybe he was scared it would. 

Draco bit his lip and raised his head to look at the grey clouds above him. Breakfast had long finished and Harry was probably wondering where Draco had gone by now. Draco wondered whether Harry had told Granger and Weasley yet. Perhaps he hadn’t, waiting for the right moment.

Then again, Harry wasn’t one to plan things out. Last night was a perfect example of that. Things had started with Harry’s childhood traumas and somehow they ended up snogging. Draco grinned to himself, looking like a lunatic grinning up at the sky, because he knew that if Harry had gotten his way this morning he would have marched Draco right into the Great Hall and kissed him right on the lips, in front of everybody. 

Doing things without thinking of the consequences, like a true Gryffindor. 

Draco sighed to himself. He pushed away from the wall and descended down the stairs, his hands in the pockets of his cloak. He knew it wouldn’t take a long time for the owl to reach his mother, perhaps four to five hours if she flew fast enough, but Draco also realized that it was quite windy and cold. They would have to wait for his Mother’s reply before doing anything rash. 

Draco wanted to be rash, though, for once. He wanted to take Harry’s hand and march him through the entire castle. He had wanted to take Harry’s hand from the very first time he saw him and sooner or later he would finally be able to in public. It was a thrilling thought despite the nerves and anxiety that coursed through him at the thought of the public having an absolute field day when the word of the two of them got out. 

Draco squared his shoulders, though, Pansy’s voice ringing in his ear. He had been in the papers plenty of times, negatively for most of them. He would not let the public get in the way from something Draco had wanted for such a long time. For Harry Potter to be his and for him to be Harry Potter’s. 

△⃒⃘

He found Harry sat on one of the couches in the Common Room, blissfully alone. Hannah and Longbottom were sitting at the Chess table, engrossed in conversation and a match that didn’t seem to have much progress. Draco knew that Pansy was probably reading up in her bed, so he hung up his cloak and promptly sat down next to Harry. 

Harry didn’t look up from his book, his finger pointing at whichever sentence he was reading. Draco sat and watched for a moment, admiring Harry’s side profile as he focused on his homework. Knowing Harry, he was probably behind on something. 

When Harry reached over to scribble a note down on a piece of parchment, Draco couldn’t help but scoff. “You stir a Felix Felicis eight times clockwise before heating it up again, Harry.” 

Harry started, dropping his quill and letting the book fall from his lap. “ _ Merlin _ Draco! You startled me!” 

Draco grinned. “Oh I’m sorry, was I not loud enough when I sat down?” 

Harry’s smile that had appeared when he saw Draco turned sheepish. “I’m sorry, I was just trying really hard to focus.” 

Draco hummed, “You were never good at Potions, were you?” 

Harry shook his head, “Only reason I did so well in sixth year was because of--”

Harry’s gaze dropped to his legs. He scrambled to get his textbook back and cast an accio to get his quill back from where it had slipped under the couch. 

“Snape.” Draco finished for him, putting a hand on Harry’s knee. 

“Yeah,” Harry took Draco’s hand and squeezed it. Draco cast a quick glance to the chess table, where Longbottom and Hannah were still conversing eagerly, eyes now trained on the window. “I’ve never had a knack for it myself, no matter how hard I try.” 

Draco couldn’t quite relate. Potions had always been something he loved to do and was good at. He had gotten an Outstanding on each assignment during his time at Hogwarts, and he was proud of it, too. 

“You could always ask for a tutor.” 

“You know, I do have a boyfriend who’s quite skilled in the Potions field.” 

Draco raised his eyebrows, a giddy feeling spreading in his chest. He squeezed Harry’s hand. “Is that so? He sounds brilliant.” 

Harry sighed, seemingly thinking about it before he nodded. Draco faked a pout. “He is brilliant, very correct.”

Harry turned back to his book when Draco smiled at him again, scratching out the note he had written down before Draco corrected him. Draco watched Harry for a few more minutes before a thought popped into his head. He had been so engrossed in watching Harry work--a true sight to see, if Draco was being honest-- that he had completely forgotten about Granger and Weasley. 

“How did your friends take it, Harry?” 

Harry hummed. He put the piece of parchment in between two pages of the book before closing it. He murmured a charm and his utensils flew up the stairs. Draco raised his eyebrow. Of course Harry was brilliant at wandless magic, he had seen it before again and again. It was still a marvelous thing to experience, though. And now he could admire as much as he wanted without looking like an idiot. 

“They took it well. Hermione was just over excited, really. Ron may need some time to fully get his head around it, but he was nice and promised to try.” Relief washed through Draco, his posture breaking as he sagged back against the couch. 

Draco wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that. He had always despised Hermione for being better than him at everything, being a Muggleborn and all. He had grown to hate Weasley because his father hated the family and spit on them because they were low-level purebloods. Draco simply hadn’t expected them to actually give him a second chance. 

“I’m glad. My mother’s letter is on its way. Hopefully she will receive it tonight.” Harry smiled at that, filling Draco’s chest and stomach with butterflies. The fact that Harry didn’t want their relationship to be a secret spoke louder than any words could ever explain. It took every ounce of self restraint not to kiss Harry right there on the couch, Longbottom and Hannah still at the chess table. 

Draco frowned, eyeing Harry. “How come they haven’t heard us talking?” 

Harry perked up at that, a shy smile on his face. “I may have cast a muffliato.” 

Draco gaped. “Salazar, Harry. You’re smarter than I thought.” 

Harry’s faux gasp of offence made Draco smile. With a flick of his wand, the silencing charm was gone. Harry looked at Draco’s wand, the one he had returned to Draco after his trials, and smiled. 

“For a few weeks I was worried the wand wouldn’t listen to you anymore.” Harry’s voice was softer than a whisper. Draco looked at his own wand, the one he had gotten from Olivanders all those years ago, and he felt a pang of guilt shoot through his chest at the memory of the wand-maker in the Manor’s dungeons. 

“It took a few tries but the wood accepted me as its owner soon enough. Thank you, for giving it back to me.” Harry placed a hand on Draco’s knee, squeezing it. 

“It belongs with you, Draco.” 

Draco felt a blush creep up on his cheeks and he cleared his throat. He reached over to grab Harry’s Potions book and opened it on the page Harry had been working on, before turning to a very confused looking Harry. 

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you with your potions homework, what else did you think I was doing?” 

△⃒⃘

“Ron! Ron!” Harry snapped his head up from where he had been focusing on his dinner and his conversation with Ron about the Chudley Cannons to watch as Hermione ran through the doors of the Great Hall and towards them. 

“What did I do wrong now?” Ron whispered toward Harry, making him snort. 

“Judging by the smile on her face, nothing bad.” Harry pointed his knife at a grinning Hermione, rushing toward them through the crowd of students that was also late. Harry guessed she had come from the library, where she had disappeared off too around the afternoon for a bit of research she was doing on house-elves.

Naturally, a  _ bit  _ of research meant hours upon hours of reading, something Ron had decided he didn’t want to be a part of this time around. After Draco helped Harry with some of his Potions homework, Ron and him had gone flying around the pitch for a little bit. Harry was glad that the news of Draco and him hadn’t gotten in the way of their friendship.

Before Ron could say anything back to Harry, he was greeted with a huge kiss on the cheek and an  _ extremely  _ giddy Hermione plopping down right next to him. Ron beamed right back at her, throwing an arm around her shoulders. Harry’s eyes instinctively moved over to the Slytherin table where Draco was sitting, sharing his dinner with Pansy and seemingly in conversation. 

“So, are you going to tell us what’s going on?” 

Hermione shovelled some shepherd's pie onto her plate that had just appeared and hummed. She looked positively delighted and despite her cheery attitude, it had been a while since Harry had seen her like that. It was a glorious sight to see and Ron seemed to agree, the fondness practically radiating off of him. 

“I received a letter from Molly when I was in the library doing a bit of light reading,” Hermione took a breath and Ron and Harry looked at each other before rolling their eyes. Hermione grinned at them both. Harry had no clue what was going on and why Molly had sent Hermione a letter, but Ron seemed to know what it was about perfectly well. 

“What did it say?” He asked, voice a little louder than necessary. He got a look from several students around them, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

“She said everything was going great! Arthur put the foundation spells on the ground a week ago and it grew perfectly!” Hermione sounded so extremely excited Harry felt a pang of guilt, for he had no idea what this was about. 

Ron’s smile only grew wider and wider. “That’s bloody wicked! I knew dad could do it.” 

“Er--” Harry let the noise escape, not meaning to break the little bubble the two of them seemed to be in, but Hermione focused on him nonetheless after giving the hand that Ron had rested on her shoulder a firm squeeze. 

“Molly and Arthur offered to build a small house on the Burrow grounds for Ron and I to move into after we graduate.” Hermione explained matter of factly, the smile on her face was constant. Harry couldn’t help but smile right back at her, his heart swelling in his chest for his friends.

“That’s brilliant! Why didn’t you guys tell me sooner?” 

Ron scoffed, “Because you were performing this weird mating dance with Malfoy and we wanted to keep it a secret until we knew for sure things were going to work out.” 

Harry hummed, that sounded as reasonable as it could be. “A mating dance?”

“Oh whatever the two of you were getting up to at night.” Ron laughed at his own joke and Hermione joined in, wiggling her eyebrows at a dumbfounded Harry. 

“Besides the point! That’s amazing, though.” 

Hermione nodded, swallowing her bite of food. “It’s a temporary solution, of course. We didn’t want to invest in a house just yet but Ron didn’t want to keep living with his parents, so this is a little bit of both.” 

“Of course they’re going to be around all the time and mom will bring us dinner every night if we allow her, but it’s a good solution.” 

Harry nodded. “She better, or Hermione will have to cook by herself.”

“Hey! I can cook!”

“Sure you can, Mione. Except you burn everything when you try.” 

Harry laughed, earning himself a kick under the table. “Why me?! He’s the one saying you can’t cook!” 

Ron chuckled at Harry’s mock whining, “She knows I’m right.” 

“I can cook just fine.” Hermione continued to mumble, earning herself two questionable looks from Ron and Harry. She groaned. “You two are the absolute worst.” 

△⃒⃘

_ To my Dearest Draco,  _

_ I was delighted to receive your letter, my dear. I had not expected one, since our last one was so recently, but then again, I shouldn’t be surprised at the contents of your letter, at all. And its urgency.  _

_ You made your Mother cry, my love. To know that you two have finally put your differences aside and have chosen each other after so much time, made me weep with joy. You deserve him, Draco. You have had an odd obsession with him ever since you met him, and I want you to know that I love you and that I am more than proud of you for taking that leap of faith and getting what you’ve wanted for such a long time. _

_ Thank you for telling me, Draco. When do I get to properly meet Mr.Potter? I have never found the time to thank him for all he did for us and of course, as your significant other, I would love to meet him as that. Not the Saviour of the Wizarding World, but as my son’s significant other.  _

_ I do hope you realize the Prophet will not be nice about it. I fear the negativity this is going to cause. What I also hope in earnest is that Mr.Potter will not care about the press, much like he has always done.  _

_ I wish you both all the luck and happiness. Salazar knows you both deserve it.  _

_ Yours truly, _

_ Narcissa Black.  _

Draco held the letter out for Harry to read as they both sat in the cramped windowsill of the Common Room. It was deserted apart from the two of them, everyone else having gone to bed. The school owl had returned to Draco late at night and he had doubted whether he should wake Harry for it. He had been sleeping so peacefully. 

But Draco also knew that Harry would have gotten angry at Draco for not waking him, for they could now discuss how they were going to go further. Whether they would march into the Great Hall and snog in front of everyone--Draco’s approach, he supposed having a Gryffindor around was rubbing off on him-- or whether they would start by simply holding hands in public, which was Harry's approach. 

“Your mother has changed, too.” Harry commented, his voice soft as he leaned against Draco’s chest and handed the letter back. 

Draco nodded, placing a soft kiss against Harry’s ear. “I told you she did.”

“She is a brave woman. I hope she knows that.” 

Pride swelled in his chest at the mention of his Mother’s bravery. She had fought for a divorce, lost some of her grace and dignity in the process, but she was still as strong as she had always been. It was what had gotten her through the first war, blinded by love for her husband. It had gotten her through the second war where she finally snapped out of it just a little too late. But that was okay. They were still alive, free and together. And Draco couldn’t love her more. 

“I will let her know you think so, too.” 

Harry smiled, turning his head. “So how do we break the news to everybody else? Sending a letter to everyone at Hogwarts sounds impossible.”

Draco snorted, shaking his head. He moved around a bit, getting more comfortable in their position against the wall. Harry moved along with him like he was attached to Draco, the two of them never losing their heat. “I reckon we just walk into the Great Hall and snog the life out of each other.” 

Harry groaned, “Imagine the headline!” 

Draco grew silent at that. “Have you thought about what the Prophet is going to say about you? About me? About us?” 

Harry bit his lip and for some reason, Draco felt his heart drop. Maybe this was the moment where Harry told him he wanted to keep their relationship between small circles of friends, perhaps for the rest of their time together. It made Draco’s skin crawl but before his mind could jump to any rash conclusions and push Harry away, Harry opened his mouth. 

“I don’t care. Of course they are going to be judgemental,  _ Merlin  _ knows Rita Skeeter had a field trip when she found out Dumbledore was gay, but that won’t stop me.” 

Draco kissed the top of Harry’s head because he appreciated that answer, too. But it did nothing to ease his worry, to keep the ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach at bay. “Me neither. But what about this?”

Draco, in a moment of courage, maneuvered his arm and pulled up his sleeve. The black lines of the Dark Mark stood stark against Draco’s pill skin and he despised it. He had tried to hex it away or at least curse it to scar, but all that had left was ugly scarred skin and the Dark Mark still visible, mocking him and his past mistakes. 

Harry gasped, sitting up and grabbing Draco’s arm. Draco hissed, the skin sensitive. “What did you do to yourself?!” 

Harry didn’t seem fazed by the mark. Instead, his fingers were all over the scarred skin, tracing the outlines of angry red lines and tissue that Draco’s mother had healed herself when the Healers refused to attend to Draco prior to the trials. 

“I tried to--”

“Curse your arm off?!” 

“No! I tried to get this hideous thing off! But it won’t go away! And it’ll be a problem for you too, when the Prophet covers our story. They will rehash everything that we did to each other, from the way I broke your nose to the horrible buttons I made for you and--”

“The  _ sectumsempra _ .” Harry muttered, interrupting Draco’s ramble about everything they had done to each other in the past. Draco balled his hand into a fist, halting Harry’s movements where he had been tracing the lines of the Dark Mark with soft movements. 

“I deserved that.”

“ _ No one  _ deserves that, Draco.” 

Draco let out a dry chuckle. “I killed our headmaster, Harry.”

Harry let go of Draco’s arm. For a second Draco was afraid he would stand up and leave Draco there and let Draco whallow in the fact that he had once again ruined something good in his life, but all that thought left his system when Harry cupped his face and pressed a kiss against his lips. 

“You didn’t, Draco. You couldn’t. I saw you on the tower. Snape was the one who killed him, not you. You never wanted to kill.” Harry’s words cut home. Draco drew in a shaky breath, leaning forward to push his forehead against Harry’s. 

“Do you really want everyone to know?” 

Harry sighed exasperatedly, his hot breath fanning over Draco’s mouth. “Of course, Draco. You’re my boyfriend and no one will change that. I’ve seen the way you’ve changed, you’re still you but you have learnt  _ and  _ it does help that you’re so incredibly handsome sometimes I wonder whether you’re actually a Veela.” 

That made Draco let out a laugh. “As far as I am aware of, neither the Blacks nor the Malfoys have any Veela blood in them.” 

“You might wanna look in that, though. Ask Hermione and she’ll know in the blink of an eye. Well, a few days. But she’ll make it seem like it was in the blink of an eye for her.” Draco shook his head, snorting. He leaned in slightly, pressing a soft kiss on Harry’s lips once more. 

“So we’re doing it then?”

“We are. And let’s do it your way.” 

△⃒⃘

A thrill of excitement ran through Harry as he walked down the steps leading to the common room. His hand was slightly sweaty but Draco didn’t seem to mind keeping their hands tightly intertwined. 

Sparks of anxiety grew with each and every step that echoed against the stone walls but Harry tried to push them down. He could feel the tension radiating off of Draco right next to him, so he squeezed his hand again. It seemed to have the wanted effect, because Draco let out a sigh of relief. 

This was going to be a new beginning, a new start. He had something that made him happy and he wasn’t going to let anything or anyone ruin that. 

Not even himself. 

The weekend had passed and truthfully, Harry was more than exhausted. He could feel it in every muscle of his body, protesting with every step. However, he wanted to do this so he had forced himself out of bed, using the thought of kissing Draco and holding his hand in public as his motivation. 

Harry hadn’t dared to dream about this just last week, crippeled by doubt and fear that Draco didn’t return his feelings, but here they were. 

Harry took a deep breath, feeling Draco’s tension rise back up again through their intertwined hands. They entered the common room without a word, but the chatter that had filled the tower two seconds prior ceased to exist despite that. 

Harry wasn’t sure what he had expected. Maybe screams, some sneers aimed at Draco that he would have dismissed. What he hadn’t expected was for Hannah to hand Neville three galleons and for Anthony and Justin to share a laugh. Parvati and Padma rolled their eyes and Lisa and Susan just stared, mouths wide open. 

Pansy stood in the corner with Hermione and Ron and strangely enough, she fit right into the group. As if she belonged there all along. 

Ernie cleared his throat from where he was seated on the couch next to Michael. “Took you two long enough, honestly.”

A murmur of agreement travelled through the room, much like a tidal wave. Everyone in their year was staring back at them, courtesy of Ron’s very persuasive conversational skills, and Harry could see silent questions in their eyes. But no one looked particularly angry or confused, to Harry’s great surprise. 

“What do you mean by that, MacMillan?” Draco’s voice was defensive, hand clutching Harry’s. Ernie rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. If he had done that two years ago, he would have spent several nights in the infirmary, Harry was sure of that. Now, he held Draco’s hand and caressed the skin with his thumb, hoping Draco wouldn’t get angry. 

“The name is Ernie, Draco. Honestly, eight years should be enough, shouldn’t it? And what I meant was that you two have been dancing around one another since first year. Granted, you were a bit of an arsehole, no offense,”

“None taken?” Draco’s words sounded more like a question than an agreement. As if he wasn’t sure whether to take offense to Ernie’s words or laugh. Harry forced back a snort himself. Ernie was right, after all. 

“But most of us saw it coming. Even some professors.” 

“Really? Who?” Harry’s curiosity got the best of him. He had many, many questions as to how all of them had seen it coming, but professors? Hoping Draco and him would get together? That was just incredibly odd. 

“Oh come on Harry, as oblivious as always, aren’t you? What do you think all that house-unity garbage was about at the start of the year?” Justin spoke up, rolling his eyes. 

“Er--about peace and unity between each house?” 

“The only rivalry between houses were Gryffindor and Slytherin and you two were the ones to continue that for  _ years. _ ” Susan added, earning herself a handful of nods. 

“Well that’s--rather unexpected.” Draco beat Harry to it, voicing exactly what Harry had been thinking. Some of the students in the room shrugged. 

“Everyone wants to leave the War behind. At least, we do. There’s no reason to stay angry at those who couldn’t do anything about it. Besides, like I told Harry when we talked, everyone deserves happiness after such dark times.” Ron threw a stern look around the room, and Harry felt his heart swell with adoration. His best friend was defending him.

“Thanks,” Draco said, clearing his throat. “I feel this would be the right moment to voice my apologies to everyone in this very room. I was an arsehole when we were younger, like Ernie said, and I’m trying not to be any longer. I would also want to apologize for everything I did in the War that affected everyone here.” 

Harry turned his head to look at Draco, completely missing everyone else’s reaction to that statement. He had not expected for Draco to do that, so publicly. Draco was putting himself in a vulnerable position, so much so that Harry felt his fingers ache with the sheer power Draco clutched his hand with. But Harry squeezed back, hoping to offer some comfort. 

“I think,” Padma spoke up, “I think I speak for everyone, in this room at least, when I say that we accept your apologies. We have seen you change, Draco. We heard the stories and how you were influenced by the bad people. Dark Mark or not, you are now part of the Light side.”

Murmurs travelled through the room once more and Harry listened with tense shoulders and an aching hand, feeling Draco’s tension. When no one spoke up in protest, Draco relaxed slightly. 

“What are you guys going to do about the rest of the students?” Neville asked, reminding everyone that while they had their own little corner of the castle, there were hundreds of other students out there who may not share the same opinions as they did. 

“Hex them when they say something about it.” Pansy beat Harry to talking, a grin on her face. 

“I was thinking of speaking to them, but hexing could be an alright plan B.” Harry continued, barking out a laugh. The tension in the room seemed to dissipate and once all the focus had left Draco and him, Harry pulled him along to where Hermione, Ron and Pansy were standing. 

“That went well.” Hermione commented, a tiny smile on her face. Ron and Hermione hadn’t actually talked to Draco yet, outside of when Draco had eaten breakfast at the Gryffindor table that one time, since their relationship started, but Hermione seemed to know exactly what to do. 

Harry looked at Ron, who shared the tiny smile his girlfriend was sporting. Harry felt relief crash over him but before he could relish in it, Pansy spoke up. “This did. But breakfast is in less than five minutes and I’m not quite sure the rest of the school will share the same sentiments as everyone here.”

Harry bit his lip. He had worried about that quite a lot. As the people who had fought in the War and had experienced it first hand, they were able to form clear and somewhat rational opinions on the people who had fought in it but on the other side. The younger generation, especially the first years of this year, was mostly influenced by their parents’ opinions, which was against the Malfoys at any given time. They weren’t going to be welcomed with open arms and Harry had known this from the very first moment he realized his feelings for Draco were romantic, but it would be so worth it.

Besides, who would fight The Saviour? Harry never used his name for anything but if it would help, he would scream it off the rooftops until no one dared to even look at Draco in a negative way. 

Draco bristled, “I can handle it.” 

Pansy rolled her eyes, clearly not believing Draco, but shrugged nonetheless. Hermione cleared her throat, “We should probably go then.” 

△⃒⃘

The walk through the castle toward the Great Hall hadn’t been bad. They were later than most students, so the corridors were empty as could be. It made Draco’s skin crawl in a way. Things were going almost a little too well. 

When they reached the stairs leading to the Great Hall, Draco’s first reflex was to pull his hand away. Harry held on, however, and pulled him down the stairs and through the doors without saying a word. 

Draco’s stomach dropped instantly as several eyes at the ends of a few tables turned to look at them. The entire eight year student population stood behind them so Draco couldn’t go anywhere else but follow Harry as they moved to the Gryffindor table. More and more eyes turned to them and the Hall was quieting down, hushed whispers and sneers the only sound you could hear apart from the several footsteps moving to their respective tables. 

Pansy followed to the Gryffindor table, like Draco had asked her to do, and promptly sat down without any sort of doubt. Draco watched as Weasley, Granger, Longbottom and Harry did the same and for a split second Draco was the only one left standing with the eyes of hundreds and hundreds of judging students on his back. 

Harry squeezed his hand, forcing Draco’s attention back on Harry instead of how a Ravenclaw girl was staring at him as if she could cast an Unforgivable any second now. Harry pulled him down on the bench, a plate appearing in front of him. Draco swallowed heavily as the silence stretched on.  _ Salazar _ ; he used to love being the center of attention, but here he was wishing a Hippogriff would fly through those damned windows or he grew wings of his own because of Harry’s stupid beliefs that somehow, Draco had Veela genes, so he could flee from those eyes and never look back. 

Yet, when Harry leaned in and placed a kiss on Draco’s cheek, all those protests seemed to fade to the back of his head. Harry wanted him here. His friends wanted him here, somewhat, and that’s why he would stay. He wouldn’t fly off. He would eat his damned breakfast while holding his boyfriend’s hand and he would walk to classes with his new formed group of friends--were they friends? Draco felt a weird tinge of hope at the thought-- and he would finish his eight year with pride and good grades and a whole lot happier than he had imagined it to be. 

Draco raised his head from where he had been looking at his eggs to look at the Head Table and made eye contact with Professor McGonagall. A tiny grin, the tiniest of grins he had ever seen, adorned her features and she winkend. It took everything for Draco not to gasp out loud. Instead, he turned to Harry and kissed him on the cheek, startling his boyfriend into a shy smile. 

Yeah, Draco wasn’t going anywhere. No matter what happened. 

△⃒⃘  **Epilogue.** △⃒⃘

The wireless stood in the corner, filling the space with music where the chatter didn’t reach. Patreons sat at the bar, nursing their drinks and talking. Most were sat at the tables, playing the Magical and Muggle board games that the pub provided. A group of young Aurors played darts in the other corner while others watched and cheered. 

A few witches were seated at a table, still clad in their healer robes as they let the stress from a long day of working at the hospital out of their system. Cups and glasses flew around the pub, providing the wizards and witches present with drinks or something to nibble on as the night went on and on. 

Harry caught a glass that levitated his way out of the air and charmed it to dance around the sink like all the other dirty glasses, joining the cleaning dance they were performing. He cleaned the wood of the bar with a rag, “The muggle way.” as Draco would say, and listened to the people enjoying their nights. 

It reminded him of that night he went to see his parents alone, when the pub in Godric’s Hollow was bustling with people, but this time he could enjoy it, too. Friday’s and Saturday’s meant long hours and a fully stocked bar, but Harry couldn’t say he minded. He liked the cheer, the laughter and chatter. It reminded him of what he fought for, of the peace that was stealthily growing in the Wizarding World and that people could go back to enjoying their lives. 

“Mate, can I get another white wine?” Harry nodded at Ron, bending down to grab the brand he knew was Hermione’s favorite. The two of them had come in for the first time in a few weeks, Rose and Hugo spending the night at the Burrow, and Harry smiled at Ron’s retelling of how Hugo had set his first few steps the very same day as he poured Hermione another glass of wine and provided Ron with another beer. 

“You’re still on for tomorrow, right? Bet Scorpius and James can’t wait to see their niece and little nephew again.” Harry rolled his eyes as he handed Ron the glasses. Ron winked at him and Harry decided that yeah, Ron had had enough to drink. 

“James has been rambling on about it for the past three days.” Ron grinned at him before raising his beer and walking off again. 

Harry stood with his back against the bar and watched, serving the people that came up to the bar and refilling some glasses as he did so. Lunch at Ron and Hermione’s house, the Library as Ron kept calling it because of the sheer amount of  _ books  _ Hermione brought home every single day, had become a custom on Saturday afternoons. 

At first it was just the four of them, with the occasional visit of Ginny and Luna or Neville and Hannah or, on some occasions even Pansy and her new American girlfriend Jewels, but now that the kids were in the picture, it became more of a playdate for the children more than anything. Sure, the  _ adults _ \--god Harry was getting old-- got their own private time with each other when the children were being babysat, but the children had become the center of their lives.

Not that Harry minded, really. He loved Scorpius and James to death and further. Getting them had been a tricky thing, loads of fertility appointments at St. Mungo’s and potions but in the end, they had managed it. When Draco and Harry found out it was going to be twins they were more than ecstatic, the two of them wanting a big family, but it had been a surprise nonetheless. 

Harry found himself looking up at the ceiling of the bar, a grin growing on his face. He probably looked like an absolute lunatic but he didn’t care. They had worked hard for this so he deserved it.

Harry turned his head to look at the page of the Prophet they had hung up, framed and everything. ‘ _ Savior dates ex-Death-Eater; has Harry Potter truly gone mad _ ?’ the title read and Harry snorted, much like he did every single time he read it. The article was published right after Draco and him had made their relationship public. 

It resulted in chaos within the castle grounds and in the British Wizarding World. People were not happy and they were not afraid to show it. Draco had gotten his fair share of howlers at the Gryffindor table which had  _ hurt _ , but it stopped after Harry made a statement saying that he could date whoever he fucking pleased to. After that, things had mellowed down significantly. 

It took awhile for them to get used to being affectionate in public, however. Draco always seemed on edge, as if he was waiting for someone to latch out at him, but even that faded after the years went by. 

Now, whenever people saw Draco and Harry together, no one said a thing. Nasty looks were still given and sometimes they would get a very frightened looking owl at the pub’s doorstep with a letter of anger but things were going alright. Much better than Harry had ever dreamed of for them to go, at least. 

“What are you dreaming about, Potter?” Harry smiled as he felt two arms slide around his waist and a soft pair of lips press a kiss against his neck. He could hear a whistle from somewhere off on the right and Draco chuckled into Harry’s skin, tickling him. 

“Nothing.” Harry replied, pulling away and giving Draco a cheeky grin. Draco returned it before turning to a patreon requesting a drink. They moved alongside each other as things got busy quite quickly, everyone’s drinks either needing a refill or someone wanting to pay off their tab before they left for their homes and Harry relished in the ease of it all.

It hadn’t always been like that, either. The ease came with years of learning about each other, respecting the differences they still shared and learning how to communicate properly. Years of fights, practice and willingness to be together and grow old together had led to this and Harry wouldn’t change it for the world. 

His nightmares still came to him sometimes, much less often than they used to be, and Draco knew exactly what to do. Most nights, when they came, they would end up cuddling on their bed and Harry would vent. Some nights they would open the window of their bedroom to look at the stars and as a distraction, Draco would show Harry his own constellation. And, on the very rare occasion that the twins were not in the house, either with Narcissa or Molly, Draco would fuck Harry open nice and slow, ridding him of every bad thought and letting him get lost in the pleasure. 

“Ron asked when we would be coming by tomorrow.” Harry stated when everything had calmed down slightly, the bar slowly emptying as people left for their homes. Draco hummed, flicking his wand around a few times to clean the bar and get the already empty bar stools in position. 

“Same as always, I suppose.” 

Harry nodded, placing a kiss against Draco’s shoulder. He watched as Ron and Hermione stood up from their table and made their way toward the bar with their coats on. “We’ll be heading off. See you guys tomorrow.” 

Harry allowed himself to be pulled into a hug from Hermione and Ron, the two of them also hugging Draco before they Apparated on the spot. Things between Ron and Draco had gone surprisingly easy after the two of them found a mutual interest in professional Quidditch, following every team and even having League nights every once in a while where they would bet on which team would win what match. The memories of their school years would always be there, Harry knew that, but it was nice to see that they had left those behind in favor of making new memories, better ones. 

“Mother asked what the kids would like for dinner on Sunday.” Draco said as Harry moved the chairs with his wand, locking the front door. The lights dimmed instantly and the wards moved into place, a handy little trick Draco had figured out, and Harry turned to look at him. 

“How many times do we have to tell her the kids don’t get to choose?” Harry joked, knowing full well Narcissa was going to spoil their kids till the end of her days. Draco rolled his eyes. ‘

“I’m afraid she’ll never listen, honestly.” 

“We learned that with Teddy.” Draco snorted, nodding. 

“Still can’t believe he sorted Hufflepuff out of all houses.” 

Harry shook his head, laughing. “I would have guessed Gryffindor or Slytherin.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course you would, Harry.”

Harry gasped in protest. “You thought he was going to be a Slytherin, too!” 

He pointed an accusing finger at Draco as they ascended the stairs, entering their living room. Draco raised his hands in mock defense. “At least I know what it takes to be a Slytherin!” 

“Hey! I was almost put in Slytherin, too!” 

Harry snapped his jaw shut, the silence ringing in his ears after the words left his mouth. Draco blinked one, two, three times before he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose to prevent himself from screeching. Harry knew that move. He had been forced to listen to those awful screeches far too many times. 

“You mean to tell me that you  _ hid  _ that from me?  _ All this time _ ?!” Draco yelped, a smile growing steadily on his face. Harry nodded weakly, not entirely sure what to do. He wasn’t certain why he had never shared it with Draco, but it just never came up. And now here they were, Harry being grateful that Draco’s spellwork was as brilliant as it was because his silencing charms were off the charts. The kids would hear nothing. 

“It never came up?” Harry offered, making Draco scowl at him. 

“Never came up? You could have told me! The amount of times we talked about school and the sorting! You could have slipped it into your vows, maybe. Or, I don’t know, perhaps just mentioning it?!” 

Harry bit his lip to keep himself from laughing. “I don’t think they would have fit into my vows, Draco.”

“You know what I mean! All this time--how did you get out of it? How did the Sorting Hat sort you into Gryffindor anyway?” Draco was standing with one hand on his hips, eyes firmly trained on Harry. It reminded him of Hermione just a little bit. Maybe they had been spending too much time together working on their law statements. Draco knew a lot about the Ministry and how it worked. Hermione had the correct set of brains. Together they formed a due no one saw coming and no one could get passed. 

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged, “I just told him not to?” 

Another beat of silence fell and for a second Harry was afraid he had actually said something wrong. Before his stomach could plummet, though, Draco let out a laugh and dropped himself on their couch. 

“Of course--of course! Somehow, you managed to get a centuries old Magical Hat to  _ listen  _ to you as he sorted you in your house! Of-bloody-course.” 

Harry didn’t stop the grin from forming this time, taking a seat next to his exasperated husband and placing a kiss on his cheek. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” 

Draco chuckled, shaking his head. He moved his arm around Harry’s shoulder and pulled him into his chest. Harry felt Draco lean in and place a kiss on his hair and he smiled into the fabric of Draco’s undershirt. 

“I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself if I had known, anyway.” That made Harry laugh out loud. Images of a frantic Draco entered his head, something he had seen before quite a few times, and his heart swelled with love. 

“It’s a shame, though. You would have looked good in green.” 

Harry snorted, pulling back. “I would’ve looked horrible and you know it.” 

“Red and green clashes! Your eyes always looked atrocious with your robes!” 

Harry gasped. He felt like a child. “Red and green is christmas!” 

“That’s the only time it’s acceptable!” 

“What about that red jumper you bought me?”

That made Draco fall silent and Harry counted it as a victory when Draco didn’t reply. 

“You look good in that.” Draco whispered. Harry grinned. 

“Thanks. You have great taste.” 

Draco snorted again, “Well yeah, I’m married to you aren’t I?” 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are highly highly appreciated.
> 
> I plan to write more for this particular fic, for sure. Maybe little parts of their lives together. Let me know what you would like to see!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it because truthfully, I haven't had this much fun writing something in a long while. 
> 
> I also know that I may have been a little too hopeful when it came to the reactions of the other members of the Wizarding World but honestly,,,, I couldn't be arsed with the negativity at the moment. thanks for understanding. 
> 
> Once again, comments and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> I hope you have an amazing day despite the current circumstances and if you're reading this way into the future where the corona virus is no longer: i still hope you enjoy your day. 
> 
> mwah


End file.
